Persona: Cloud Nine
by AceDefective
Summary: Tetsuo Katsuji has signed a contract he does not remember signing. His fortune details pitfalls and potential he does not comprehend. And when the transfer student he chose to escort around the city goes missing, he discovers a world of surreal power, fueled by unfulfilled dreams and coveted by unscrupulous figures. Now, he and many others must find the strength to defy fantasy.
1. Prologue

Sweat soaks his shirt. It's heavy, but he can't feel its weight at all. _Move!_ his mind screams, but his legs do not listen, and they remain splayed out uselessly behind him. Lying on his stomach with his arms propping him up a few inches so that he can see the obscured figure standing above him, he awaits his fate.

Did it do this to him? He can't remember. He doesn't know why he's here. He remembers flashes of things: a numbness, a dim twinging in his chest, the rattle of some plastic object. And now he is here. But he needs to stand. Stand so he can run, or to fight, or even just to feel less helpless in front of this thing that oozes such a strong sense of malice.

Craning his neck as far up as it will allow, he tries once more to make out its face. He can't. There is only a mass of smoky, bluish-black tendrils crowning the entrance to some abyssal, dark pit. Seeing it, he is consumed by the overwhelming desire to escape. Pulling his body away from the thing is an agonizing and slow process, as he is unable to do little else but drag his torso forward across the smooth floor. Ever so slowly he begins to crawl away, but in his peripheral vision he sees the thing walking briskly alongside him. Casually, even, as if to mock his efforts.

Realizing that the effort is futile, he slumps to the floor. Beside him, the figure crouches and the pit comes to eye level.

"Why are you struggling?"

A voice. Human language. Yet laced with an undercurrent of surreality, a discordant rippling at the edges of its curious tone. Not human. Not at all. He refuses to answer, yet does not attempt to crawl away again. Whatever it wants, it will have its way at this point.

As if sensing his acquiescence, the figure takes on a more pleased tone.

"Good. I don't want to harm you anyways. In fact, I want to show you something. Do you want to see?"

It was almost like an excited child, but he couldn't bring himself to nod or shake his assent or dissent. It would do what it wanted. It takes his inaction as agreement.

"Very good! Now, do you want to be perfect?" It paused, waiting for an answer. He couldn't give it one. No words would form. How would one answer a question like that, given no prompting or explanation?

"I see. Maybe you think it makes you a bad person to wish that way. Maybe you think _I'm_ a bad person. There are a lot of people who don't understand what I see. But I think you're different."

It rises to its feet, and out of his vision. It isn't until the hairs prick up on the back of his neck that he hastily squirms to flip himself over.

The figure stands over him in an aggressive stance, the blackish-blue smoke creeping over every inch of its humanesque form. But it is not this that so deeply disturbs him. It is the glinting gold eyes that now peer out from within the pit that provokes a cacophony of shrieking within his mind. They seem to reach hungrily into his soul, seeking to devour him from the inside out.

It is going to kill him.

"Please prove me right," it says, and instead of murdering him, it holds out its hand. Unlike the rest of it, it does not smoke, nor is blackish-blue. In fact, it looks disturbingly close to the hand of a real person.

He is unsure of how to react to this gesture. He knows nothing about this figure, other than it is not human, yet is quite adept at mimicking one. There is also the distinct possibility that it may be responsible for maiming him and putting him into this distressing position. The figure is frightening, for sure, yet at the same time, intriguing. Indeed, the more time he spends near it, the more his fear subsides and his curiosity peaks. He is so tired of lying here helpless like this. Would it be so bad, to take its hand?

In the end, he decides to do exactly that. He grasps the hand of the thing standing above him.

Its fingers instantly clench around his as if seeking to crush every individual bone in them beyond recognition. Its grip is disgustingly strong, and spears of pain lance up his arm and through every nerve ending in his wrecked body. The agony is so acute that he cannot even muster the strength to scream before foggy whiteness creeps into the corner of his eyes. However, before he slips into the cold sleep of the unconscious, a barely indistinct sound reaches his ears.

"The contract is sealed."


	2. An Unexpected Guest

Waves.

It takes some time for your mind to register them, but the sounds you are hearing as your brain awakens from its addled state are definitely waves.

The ocean.

Laboriously, you open your eyes so that you can figure out just where you are that you're hearing such things, yet the sight that meets your eyes does nothing to alleviate your sense of confusion.

You are lying face down on what appears to be a plush blue carpet that stretches across the entire floor of this modestly sized space. But that's not so bizarre, all things considered. No, the large door that monopolizes your vision is much stranger.

It's a huge, gaudy thing, absolutely dwarfing you in size, composed of what looks to be golden, square panels. Each one is engraved with illustrations of eyes pointing-no, _moving_-in all sorts of different directions. Two enormous chains cross it from corner to corner to form a large, golden "X". It's clearly meant to keep people out. Or perhaps something else in.

Finding the strength to rise to your feet, you feel compelled to touch it, even though you have no key or means of opening it at all. Your fingers are about to graze its surface when a soft voice from behind you arrests you.

"Please don't touch that."

You whirl around to discover a sharply-dressed young man seated on a velvet blue couch behind you, his legs casually crossed as though he had been waiting for you to notice him all this time. He is dressed in highly formal attire – a tuxedo, a pearl-white pocket square, and heavily shined white leather shoes –almost as if he were about to attend a high-class gathering. Only a pair of headphones dangling around his neck beneath waves of shaggy azure hair disrupt the air of panache.

Next to him, a demure-looking blonde girl sits on a wooden chair with an amused expression on her face. She is dressed in a slim, blue jacket with large, brass buttons and a similarly blue short skirt. A thick book rests across her folded legs, which are almost pale white with blue (again!) boots pulled up almost to her knees.

Behind them both is a wide arch with billowing, sheer cobalt curtains draped from it. Beyond that is something that you've never seen in person, but can instantly identify: the prow of a ship, cutting through waves tinted orange by the setting of a distant sun.

"That door is not for you to open," she says.

"Wh-Where am I…?" you breathe. You hadn't meant to say it aloud, and yet, you couldn't help yourself.

The young man smiles broadly and spreads his arms wide.

"Hard to say. This place is both real and not real. It drifts somewhere between mind and matter, dream and reality." It's strange: the young man is the one gesturing, yet the girl is one speaking.

"That doesn't even make any sense. How can something be 'real and not real'? And how the hell did I get on a boat?"

"This room reflects the soul of the one who enters it. Perhaps if the form it takes confuses you, it means you're in need of some soul-searching. But I don't think that it matters at all _what_ it looks like. All that matters is that you are _here_. And it is very strange that you _are_ here at all, for that matter. As I understand it, you shouldn't have been able to come here. But then again, everything happens for a reason, and stranger things have happened."

"Well then, I want to know _how_. _How_ am I here?"

"Well, there's only one reason for that: because you have entered into a contract."

A contract? It sounds familiar, but when you try to remember what it means, all that comes to mind are hazy shapes and indistinct voices. Yet you don't feel like she's wrong. And the thought of that makes you uneasy.

"I don't think so. I don't even know what I signed."

"We cannot tell you what you have agreed to, but only that it binds you to a powerful fate. Your presence here is proof enough of that."

"Ah, so 'I'm here because I'm _meant_ to be here,' is that it? Pretty way of saying nothing, isn't it? And you two…I don't think I've ever met either of you before in my life. Who are you?"

Then, the young man in the tux smiles at her, and the girl feigns an expression of mock surprise. "Ah! We've been rude, haven't we, Master? We haven't introduced ourselves at all. That should've been the first thing we did when he arrived. I suppose I'm rather…out of practice when it comes to guests. Let's start over."

The girl turns back to you and bows with a grandiose sweep of her arm. "My name is Elizabeth."

"…And my name is Minato," the young man states, speaking for the first time. "Welcome to the Velvet Room."

The Velvet Room? It sounds more like the name of some cheesy cocktail lounge than…whatever this is supposed to be, but at the same time, it is rather appropriate given the décor.

"So you _can_ talk," you say to Minato.

"My Master's residence here is quite…complicated," Elizabeth offers, "as such, communication can be quite strenuous. So for the time being, I will speak for him unless he has something he wishes to say directly. My Master and I have an..._intimate_ understanding of one another. I assure you that anything that I say can be understood as coming from him. Does this satisfy you?"

"I suppose it'll have to," you respond.

"And you, who fate has guided here, what would your name be?" Elizabeth asks.

She _is_ a stranger in an even stranger place, but you can't think of any reason as to why just giving her your name would be a bad idea.

"Tetsuo Katsuji."

"Tetsuo…I get the feeling that your name will be on the lips of many around you in the coming year – a year that will be incredibly vital in determining your ultimate fate. It may sound quite dramatic, but I assure you that we don't exaggerate lightly."

"You keep on talking about this 'fate'. Are you gonna tell me what it is, or just keep acting whimsically mysterious about it?" you ask.

"Eager to learn what destiny awaits you? Very well, shall we consult the cards?"

"Cards?"

Seemingly out of thin air, Minato produces a deck of cards which he begins to rapidly shuffle. He rearranges, flips, and even twirls them about in midair in tantalizing arcs and loops. It seems to defy reality, which you notice has become something of a recurring theme. Finally, he places a number of them facedown on the table between you and stares you right in the eyes. His gaze is now piercing and strong, and you must force yourself not to look away.

"The Arcana is the means by which all is revealed. Allow my Master to read your fortune."

He takes one card between his thumb and forefinger and deftly flips it face up. It reveals the image of a skull, its eyeless black sockets boring into yours.

"Death, upright." His grey eyes are now transfixed upon you.

"Wait, _death_?"You can hardly keep the edge of panic out of your tone. "Are you saying I'm going to _die_?"

Elizabeth remains calm, even bemused maybe. "Not necessarily. Although this card is certainly tied to the cycle of life and death, it doesn't always mean that someone is about to die. In all likelihood, it points to a rebirth of sorts, the beginning of a new cycle in your life. However, there is always the possibility that it may be taken literally. It's a powerful card, and one with powerful implications."

Somehow, that does little to make you feel any more confident. Minato ignores your perturbed expression and reaches over to flip up the next card.

"Now, see? This one's much more promising. The Wheel of Fortune, upright. It seems your life is about to go through some dramatic changes, ones that should be favorable to you. It represents the beginning of a cycle of good luck. Now, let's continue."

He turns the card face up, and an image of the moon stares up at you.

"The Moon, reversed. It appears to be warning you against escaping reality by seeking comfort in delusions. You'll need to have the strength to face the harshness of life and see through lies. And finally…"

With a flourish, he flips over the next card and slides it in front of you. It depicts a figure with a bundle slung over his back.

"Ahhhh… somehow I had a feeling that this would be the final card. The Fool. It is a representation of limitless potential and freedom of the soul. For you to draw this card is very intriguing indeed. It comes with a great deal of power. But of course, how much you're able to tap into will be entirely dependent on how much you're willing to share with others."

"This…still doesn't mean anything to me. Honestly, I'm still a little worried about the part where I might die," you say.

"Death is not a hunter unbeknownst to its prey," quips Elizabeth. "It comes for us all at some point or another. But the Arcana do not create futures; they only grant us the means to perceive them. But if you'd like me to summarize, it seems as though your life is about to undergo a serious transformation, yet from that, you will experience a great opportunity for growth. However, during all of this, you must remember to face all these challenges head on, even if it would be more comfortable for you to believe in falsehoods and empty promises. Does that make things a little clearer?"

"It sounds like a lecture. What you're saying is that I should watch out."

"You can take it that way, but I'd rather you were a bit more self-conscious than that."

"It's hard to take this stuff seriously under the circumstances. Be honest, is this a dream or not?"

"It is. Right now, you exist somewhere in between the conscious and unconscious mind. But the Velvet Room is also very real, and you will come here again."

It seems hard to imagine any reason why you would want to return, but seeing as there appears to be no way out besides the door you were told not to touch, you remark that it would be awfully hard to come back to someplace that you never left.

Minato looks about the Velvet Room as if searching for an exit himself.

"I wouldn't worry about that," Elizabeth says finally, "you'll wake up soon enough. But now I know that we'll see each other again. When your potential awakens, you will come to this place on your own, and I think we'll be able to speak with much less confusion."

"I hope you're right, because I'm still incredibly lost here. What should I even look for?"

Elizabeth chuckles and Minato smiles and shakes his head. "Don't let it bother you. The Velvet Room is exactly what I said that it was. It's only a waypoint for those bound by powerful fates. Nothing more, and nothing less. I wouldn't worry about recognizing the entrance once you're back in your world. You'll know it when you see it.

"Now, it seems like our time is at its end…for the moment. Do your best to recall what we spoke of here when you return to the land of the living. This is the beginning of an important journey for you…don't squander the opportunity you've been given, or the consequences could be more dire than you imagine."

There are many other things you want them to explain, but already you can see and feel the Velvet Room melting away into a miasma of blackness. You can only just make out a muffled "Farewell" from Elizabeth as the sound of waves comes to dominate your hearing. Soon, you are falling away into the void of unconsciousness, and you feel no more.


	3. The Transfer Student

The chirping of birds and the gentle, insistent warmth of sunlight filters in through your open window, alerting you that morning has arrived. You sit up straight in bed, the events of your dreams clinging vividly in your head like strands of persistent spider webbing. Almost a little too vividly. It was only a dream, for sure, but then again, how many dreams have you had before that actually told you that you were dreaming? It's much too strange for you to think about on a Monday morning, so you decide to forget about it for now and get ready for school.

Your name is Tetsuo Katsuji, a student at the nearby Seganshima High School. Today will mark the first day of your second year, a day you've been dreading all vacation. Your first year of high school, you vaguely remember being extraordinarily boring, and nothing about it really stood out in your mind. In fact, you now recall that you spent most of it on your own at home, practicing your guitar. You don't seem to remember making any real friends, joining any clubs, or doing much hanging out. It wasn't a _terrible_ year, per se, but everything seemed like such a drag. The thought of another year of having to put up with Seganshima's cliques, corrupt, lazy teachers, and punishing exams makes you cringe inwardly.

However…

The things those strange people, Elizabeth and Minato, told you in your dream begin to bubble to surface of your thoughts. Drastic changes, good fortune, limitless potential… It was only a dream. And tarot readings are right up there with horoscopes and palm reading on your "useless hippy bullshit" meter. But the idea of something, _anything_ different in your life happening sounds promising. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to broaden your horizons a little this year, and try to reach out to someone other than your guitar. You make a note in the back of your mind for future consideration.

As you pull on your uniform for the day, you happen to glance out the window and notice someone walking down the other side of the street.

She's on the short side, with thick, brown hair pulled into a jaunty ponytail behind her. She _looks_ cute, but it's hard to tell from this far away. However, you can tell that she's wearing a white Junes jacket over your school's uniform, but you can't remember ever seeing her around Seganshima High before. A large canvas suitcase that's almost bursting at the zipper rolls along behind her, jumping at every rut in the road. She must have just gotten off the bus from somewhere else.

By some coincidence, she stops at the house just across the street from yours, rolls her suitcase up to the gate, and pushes the buzzer. While she waits, she leans up against the gate and casts an inquisitive glance around your neighborhood. Eventually, her eyes land on yours and there's a brief moment of embarrassment as she catches you watching her. But if she's put off, she doesn't show it. Instead, she waves enthusiastically to you, which you reciprocate with a half-hearted wave of your own.

Then, the buzzer must be sounding outside, because she turns away from you and begins speaking into the microphone. After a few minutes, a tall, grey-haired woman emerges from the house and escorts her up the walk, taking her suitcase from her. She glances back over her shoulder at you one more time before the door closes behind them and they're out of sight.

You can't help but think that it's a little strange that someone would be staying with the family across the street. They're almost never home for very long, and you don't think they've ever hosted guests. There's a first time for everything, you suppose.

Downstairs, your father is already putting things away from breakfast. You spot yours lying on the table and dig in greedily. For reason, your appetite is larger than usual this morning.

"I was gonna say that maybe you ought to heat that up, but it looks like it doesn't matter. Do you have everything ready for today?" he asks.

You nod in between mouthfuls and swallow to speak.

"Did Mom already leave?"

Your mother is the sole breadwinner in your family, having recently secured a well-paying job with a well-known law firm in the city. She leaves early and gets home late, so you rarely see much of her. Your father, on the other hand, hasn't had a job as long as you've known him, and stays home to keep the house in order.

"Oh yeah. At the crack of dawn, just like always. Took the entire pot of coffee with her, too, so I haven't had any myself. Better not make me grumpy this morning," he says with a wink. You shrug and continue eating. You're still curious about the girl from earlier. Maybe your father knows something, but you don't want to sound too interested.

"Hey, how many kids do the people across the street have?" you ask.

Your father puts down the sponge in his hand and becomes thoughtful.

"Uhh…pretty sure there's just one, a boy, but don't quote me on it. Why, did he come home again?"

"Nah," you say in between bites of toast. "But I saw this girl come up to their gate today with a couple pieces of luggage."

"_Really_?" Dad asks, his brows rising and eyes widening with interest. "That _is_ interesting…"

Suddenly, he bounds towards you and pulls you into a tight headlock while ruffling your already messy mop of black hair. He's a skinny guy, but his arms are lean and muscled, and clamp around you like a vice.

"Good man, Tetsuo! Gotta go after her before every other guy gets a chance! I like your thinking!"

Damn. You must have sounded too interested.

"H-Hey! Knock it off! Not exactly where I was going with that. Just wondering if you knew who she was."

Dad loosens his hold, allowing you to slip out and pat your hair back into its natural place. He looks disappointed.

"Well, how should I know? My only job is to keep the house in one piece, not to figure out what the neighbors are up to every waking hour. Just 'cause I stay at home doesn't mean I'm the same as some gossiping old housewives…why don't you just ask her yourself if you're curious?"

You shake your head. "Probably something personal. I shouldn't bother her on her first day of school."

Your father sighs deeply. "Sometimes I gotta wonder if you're actually a real man, Tetsuo. Before you know it, high school's going to be over, and you'll be wishing you had at least made it to first base. Don't blame me for lack of trying."

"Give it a rest, Dad," you mutter in hopes of getting your father off your case about your social life. Fortunately, you're spared any further inappropriate remarks by the sound of the buzzer out front.

You're finished with your breakfast, so you volunteer to answer the door in order to prevent any further opportunities for conversation. You grab your bag, pull on your jacket, sling your guitar case over your shoulder, and hastily wave goodbye before leaving for the day.

Outside, the one who rang the buzzer turns out to be none other than the girl you saw across the street this morning. She's lost the jacket and her luggage; all she has with her now is her schoolbag and uniform.

"Hey!" she says, raising her hand quickly in greeting. You return the gesture.

"Hey," you return. "You…you're new here, aren't you?"

"Yeah, you must have seen me get in this morning, right? I'd rather have gotten here yesterday, but beggars can't be choosers, I guess."

You have no idea what she means by that, but you don't feel confident enough to ask about it.

"I noticed that you're wearing the same uniform," she says, pointing to your long black jacket and pants. Of course, it's not the _exact_ same, but you know what she means. "I guess that means we're going to the same school, huh?"

She looks at you expectantly. Since she's new – as in, a couple hours to the area new – she likely doesn't have anyone to show her around. This might be an excellent opportunity for you to connect with someone at school, to begin anew like Minato had suggested…

"Well, why don't you stick with me today and I can show you around to your homeroom and stuff. I'm Tetsuo Katsuji." You offer your hand to the girl.

"Mariko Tsukino. It's good to meet you, Tetsuo-kun! It's been a crazy morning…I really appreciate it. Hopefully I'll get to hang around long enough to get a feel for the place myself."

"Huh? Why do you say that? Are you not staying for long?"

Mariko's eyes drift to her feet. "It's…complicated. I guess I'll know in a few weeks or so. But until then, I'm not gonna worry about it too much! Are we ready to go?"

You take a glance at your watch. It's later than you thought it was! If you don't step on it, you might be late on your first day!

"Yeah, actually, we need to leave right now! Come on, follow me!" you say hastily as you take Mariko by the arm and take off down the street towards school.

"Whoa! Okay!"

You and Mariko run headlong in between throngs of men and women making for the trains and cross your fingers that you don't end up running into someone. Fortunately, you know the way by heart. After a year of perfecting the best way to get to and from school with the least amount of hassle, you know all the streets that tend to have the fewest people and the route that requires minimal waiting at stoplights.

When you emerge from the crowd and arrive at one of the few intersections along the way, you take a moment to look up and notice that you're not where you expected to be.

The school should be just visible past a cluster of low shops ahead of you, but instead, you seem to have wandered your way towards the large bridge that passes over the river that cuts across town. Now, it's drifted off to your right at the intersection. Fortunately, it's still not too far away, and you can still make it in time if you book it. Your uniforms are going to be sweaty and sticky all morning, but there's nothing you can do about it now.

You turn to tell Mariko which way to go, but she's no longer listening. Her eyes are half-lidded and her body is beginning to sway back and forth like a snake in harmony with some unseen snake charmer. It almost looks as if she's about to fall asleep.

"Hey, Mariko-chan!" you shout over the roar of traffic, but she doesn't seem to hear you. Instead, she begins plodding towards the intersection. "Mariko-chan!" you cry out, but you may as well not even exist.

Another glance at your watch reveals that you're certainly going to be late now. The only thing you can do is damage control. You don't know what Mariko's deal is, but it's made you late and it's seriously creeping you out. Something in the recesses of your mind, something that is causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand at attention, is telling you that something is wrong here.

Lunging forward, you manage to catch her just before she steps into traffic. You place one hand gently on her shoulder, and she shudders for a brief moment before turning around to acknowledge you for the first time since you arrived at the intersection.

"Umm, what is it, Tetsuo-kun? You don't look so good. What's going on?" Mariko asks, looking about in confusion. Was she completely unaware of what she was just doing?

"Are you kidding? You almost ran into traffic! You looked half asleep – are you sure you wanna go to school today?" you ask.

Mariko vehemently nods her head. "Yeah! I'll be fine, trust me. I must still be a little out of it from the bus ride over. The roads from my hometown to here kinda suck, so didn't get much sleep. Heh heh…maybe I was sleepwalking!"

Is she trying to make a joke? Her tone doesn't sound all that humorous. Whatever was going on, she clearly doesn't feel comfortable talking about it with you.

"If you say so…just try to stick with me the rest of the way, okay? If we run, we won't be too late."

A mortified shadow crosses her face.

"_What?!_ H-How late are we?" She grabs your watch. The color begins to drain from her face when she realizes what time it is.

"Geez…c'mon, we gotta go!" she says, and dashes off, but before she even goes a meter, she realizes she has no idea where to go and looks back at you sheepishly.

"After you, of course."

You take the lead back towards the intersection, but Mariko lingers a little while longer and glances back across the bridge for a fraction of a second before hurrying after you.


	4. New Old Grind

By the time the both of you arrive at Seganshima High, your uniforms are sticking to your skin, your brows are slick with sweat, and your mouths are dry from gasping for air. And you're ten minutes late. With any luck, your new homeroom teacher will be understanding, and you might be able to get your tardiness overlooked under the pretense of assisting a new student.

Seganshima High School looms large over you, its size accentuated by the emptiness of the grounds. It was recently renovated before you got here, or so you had heard. Out front, the second floor boasts an absurdly large glass window that stretches the length of the school from end to end, with fake friezes inlaid over top of it featuring all sorts of famous scholars from disjointed periods of history. Over top of it all, they installed a new clock with a face of matte black paint and chrome Roman numerals. Inside, the classrooms are tiled in black (some say to match the uniforms, but more pragmatic argue that it's to hide scuff marks) with brand new furnishings and interactive whiteboards.

It puts on convincing pretension of modernity, but there are those who aren't impressed. During the old days, it had been closer to a prison than a school according to a few of the older teachers. It's not difficult to imagine why, looking at the bits of exposed grey brick that squeeze in between and wrap around all the modern bells and whistles that were added to the façade. That and having access to all that money hasn't done anything to alter the fact that Seganshima has just as many cliques, awful teachers, and gangs as any other high school in the country. You figure that the people who thought otherwise when they donated their cash to the project must be living in a fantasy.

Inside, you and Mariko rapidly scan the class rosters for your name and homeroom. You spy Mariko's first. Ms. Otomuji, the Spurned. Rumor has it that her personality is so venomous that no man has ever even dated her. You're about to offer your condolences when Mariko mentions that she's found your name.

"Hey, I found you, Tetsuo-kun!" Mariko says. Sure enough, she's pointing to your name...and it's only a few names underneath hers. "We have the same homeroom! Now _there's_ a coincidence, huh?"

True, it'll be nice to have someone around to share in your misery, but the thought of having to explain your tardiness to Otomuji makes your breakfast pull backflips in your stomach. Mustering up all your resolve to not be violently ill, you wave for Mariko to follow you up the stairs to the second years' hall.

Your class, 2-B, is the first door on the right after you come up the stairs, right across the hall from the laboratory. When you slide the door open, you can immediately feel every eye train on the two of you, especially Otomuji's thin, snake-like glare. Next to you, Mariko's expression is impassive, almost defiant – if she's nervous, she's not showing it.

"_Oh my God_," drawls Otomuji, rolling her eyes for extra dramatic effect. "Is this some kind of joke? Do you find this funny? To force me to interrupt my class so you can roll in whenever you feel like it? Hmm?"

She leans in closer and closer to your face as she speaks, each word coated in more exasperation than the last. You can smell her breakfast on her breath, and you have to try not to gag. Is this part of her psychological warfare? Mercifully, she doesn't linger close to you for long as she stands up straight to deliver another diatribe.

"Each and every year they stick me with the worst little shits this school has to offer, and then they have the balls to turn around and deny me my retention bonus. This when I'm expected to come in here and force the likes of _you_ to learn trigonometry when you obviously can't even read a clock properly! What a farce."

Otomuji takes a deep breath and returns to the podium at the front of the room.

"Normally, I'd tell you to just take a seat so that the rest of us can get on with our lives, but since today is the first day of school, I may as well give you chance to try whatever half-baked excuse you cooked up before you got here. Well, come on, spit it out!"

You're about to speak up for the two of you, but Mariko comes forward before you can say anything.

"I'm very sorry for being late today, but it's my fault. I'm new to the city and I got lost while he was showing me to school. I promise it won't happen again."

Otomuji's lips curl into an awful grin.

"Then maybe you should have left earlier if you knew you were too stupid to read a map. You kids have those on your damn phones these days anyways! What a half-assed excuse, I should've known this would be a waste of my time. Just siddown already, shut up, and listen carefully to the rules so you never screw up in this class again."

Otomuji is being unnecessarily cruel to Mariko, and it's beginning to piss you off. Normally, you'd just follow directions and hope to get through the rest of the day without incident, but you need to say something, especially since Mariko just took the heat for you.

"Hey. Aren't you forgetting something?" you ask Otomuji, with maybe a little more edge to your voice than you'd meant. Not that you care how nasty you sound to her right now. The class, who's been regarding your scolding with only moderate interest, now begins to sit up at rapt attention at your defiance.

Otomuji looks at you the way people inspect mold on old produce.

"I don't know, did I forget to write up a report on a hormonal little punk in all the excitement?"

"Mariko-chan. She's new."

"What about it? So is this migraine I'm getting. Sit down already."

"A good teacher should introduce a new student to the class instead of treating them like garbage."

"I-" Otomuji is at a loss for words. "I-I'll do whatever I please in this class! I went to university for the right to do so!"

"You know, you really ought to," says a brown-haired kid with stylish sunglasses near the back of the room. "That's kinda messed up."

"I agree."

"Totally."

"The bitch is in rare form already…"

"Come on, introduce her, teach!"

As the murmuring protests in the classroom begin to rise, so does the color in Otomuji's face. Finally, it reaches its peak and erupts.

"_FINE!_ If it'll let me teach in peace again, I'll do it. Come here, girl. What's your name?" she almost hisses at Mariko.

Mariko takes a few strides towards the podium.

"Mariko Tsukino."

"Alright then, class, this here is Mariko Tsuwhatsherface from the Middle of Nowhere and she's going to be in our class this year. Do your best to help her out by speaking slowly and maybe slipping her some travel-sized deodorant. Now _sit_!"

Satisfied, you and Mariko take a couple of empty seats in the second to last row, in front of the guy in the shades who spoke up for you. It wasn't the best start to the school year, but you already feel more confident. Your classmates seem to respect you more as well.

Otomuji makes sure to shoot you a death glare before launching into the obligatory recital of the school's rules and regulations. "_This isn't over_," she mouths to you. All of a sudden, you feel as though this will be a long year.

Then, a finger in the small of your back draws you out of your troubled musing. The guy in the shades leans forward to whisper in your ear.

"Hey, that was a gutsy move, dude. Do you wanna die this year or something?"

"No," you reply, "just standing up for a classmate."

"Well, you're _my_ hero, dude. A bitch like her shouldn't even _be_ a teacher if she's gonna act like this. I'd heard the stories, but it's way worse in person, isn't it? It's about time someone spoke up for us."

"It probably would have been a lot worse if you hadn't said something, too. Thanks," you say. It's true, as well. You feel like things would have gotten a lot worse if this guy hadn't come to your defense.

"No prob. Don't think I woulda said anything on my own, though. I'm not that ballsy. But hey, for a good enough cause, who knows?" He glances none too subtly at Mariko and pulls his glasses down his nose to wink at her. "Anyhow, you got a name? I've seen you around before, but I don't think we ever spoke."

"Tetsuo Katsuji."

"Ooooh yeeeaaah…come to think of it, that does sound kinda familiar. Hayate Hirada." He extends his hand, and you grasp it firmly in yours.

"Hey! I hope to God there isn't any conspiring going on back there! So help me if there's even one whiff of mutiny in my classroom, I'll have all of you scrubbing the faculty office for the rest of your lives!" Otomuji snaps.

Hayate sighs. "We'll have to pick this up later. If you got time after school, you'll probably find me at Ikkuman's at the Air Mall. And bring Mari-chan, will ya? I'm sure she doesn't know a thing about the best places to eat around here yet."

Hayate's intentions might not be totally selfless, but you sense that he's friendly enough. Perhaps you'll take him up on his offer today…

The rest of the day drags on slowly, as each teacher cycles through to deliver their expectations for your performance during the school year. At lunch, you make sure to show Mariko where the most important places in school are; the club rooms (of which you note are accepting new members in a week), the faculty office (at which you don't linger terribly long), the library (which oddly enough seemed to be passed over in the renovation, leaving it just as musty and cramped as ever), and the sports complexes.

You're on your way up to the roof for one last stop when Mariko stops and turns to you in the middle of the hall. She looks like she wants to say something.

"What's up?" you ask.

Mariko smiles a sad-looking smile, which confuses you somewhat. Sure, this morning was a little dicey, but you don't think you did anything wrong.

"I just wanted to say thanks for showing me around today, Tetsuo-kun. I know I made things hard for you today, so if you don't want to, you don't need to hang around me tomorrow."

"What? No, no. I mean, you didn't bother me at all. You've just had a long day, today, right? It's normal to feel a little out of it, you know? Don't be so hard on yourself."

Mariko chuckles lightly at that. "And maybe you're being a little too nice, Tetsuo-kun. I guess...I just feel like I shouldn't have to be a burden on anyone anymore. Dad was never home very often growing up, so a lot of people around town felt like they had to spend time with me to cheer me up. But I didn't really need cheering up…I was fine on my own most of the time."

"You didn't like hanging out with them?"

"Well, it's not really like that, either." Mariko frowns. "I had fun, but whenever I had a problem, they felt like they had to swoop in and make it all better. I don't really need that anymore. My problems are my problems, I shouldn't have to have someone with me all the time to make sure I'm all right. Some people don't get that."

Your face starts turning red, and Mariko notices.

"No, no! I didn't mean to sound rude, Tetsuo-kun! I didn't really mean you! I'm not saying that I want to be by myself _all _the time. It really did enjoy today! It's just…more my Dad that feels that way. Like I need to be watched every second of every day. I'm not a kid anymore. He needs to worry more about himself and less about me. I don't think anyone should have to feel obligated to keep tabs on me."

Mariko's brow furrows and her gaze becomes distant. It's reminiscent of the way she got on the way to school this morning. Then, as quickly as it comes, she waves her hand vigorously in front of her face as if to chase her thoughts away.

"Well, just never mind that stuff for now. I'm sorry I bored you with all that family crap when it's not really your problem or anything. Let's just keep going, I really wanna see the view from the roof, OK?"

You decide to let topic drop for now since that's what she wants, and gesture for her to follow you towards the stairs. However, before you can mount the first step, a booming voice echoes down the hall after you.

"_KATSUUUUUUUJI!_"

The blood in your veins starts to freeze as you recognize who that roar belongs to. When you turn around, you are suddenly face to face with a behemoth!

Shigesato Shibutani is a caricature of a high school student. That is to say, his proportions are in such excess of an average high schooler's that he would seem cartoonish if he wasn't so frightening. Ever since being appointed to the position in his second year last year, Shibutani has garnered a reputation as a fierce, uncompromising Disciplinary Committee Chair.

At first glance, he doesn't seem like someone who would be interested in upholding any kind of rules at all. He sports a modest pompadour, similar to the kind the local gangs like to wear. However, it doesn't appear that he uses any hold on his at all, as the ends spring upwards naturally, like he uses only sheer willpower to keep them in place. Powerful, thick sideburns slash downwards across a heavy jawline seemingly set into a permanent scowl. His pupils are small and round, like little black beads, but when he gets agitated (as he is now), the beads almost become lost in the whites of his eyes, an effect both comical and terrifying. In addition, you've never seen Shibutani wear his jacket buttoned up. Not even once. Yet he wears it year-round for reasons no one will likely ever know. All things considered, if it wasn't for the traditional orange band around his left arm marking him as a Student Council member, you'd think he was one of the delinquents he works so tirelessly to round up.

Shibutani looms over the both of you with menacing ferocity, and you immediately know that even though you don't really know what you did, you're screwed.

"Are you aware of why I had to stop you?" he bellows. You weakly shake your head. Shibutani sighs and cracks a wry smile.

"Unsurprising. Very rarely do delinquents believe that they've done anything wrong. They're the most delusional breed of human being, completely oblivious to the destruction they leave in their wake in the pursuit of self-satisfaction!"

"Umm," Mariko ventures, unfazed by Shibutani's posturing, "but Tetsuo-kun still doesn't know what he's done."

Shibutani's eyes go wide and he bends in half to bring himself down to Mariko's height.

"And you!...Who would you be?"

"Mariko Tsukino…I'm new this year."

Shibutani straightens back up, his eyes shrink back to their normal size, and he extends his hand.

"Ah. Well then, that changes things somewhat. Allow me to formally welcome you to Seganshima High School in lieu of the greeting you received this morning."

"Thank you," says Mariko with a short bow.

Shibutani then turns back to you. "Now, as for _you_…I have chosen to issue you a warning instead of assigning a more severe punishment as was suggested. Ms. Otomuji was insistent that you scrape the gum off the bottoms of every desk in the school."

This entire incident is suddenly becoming clearer to you. But why is Shibutani letting you off the hook?

"The rules I enforce here at Seganshima are steadfast and invincible," Shibutani says, "but there are times when the Disciplinary Committee must consider all the circumstances behind an infraction. I am well aware of Ms. Otomuji's reputation…and word of mouth travels quickly here. My job is to protect Seganshima's student body and preserve justice. I won't punish someone for doing the same."

You instinctively exhale, but your heart is still pounding. You can't remember ever hearing about Shibutani letting anyone off the hook before. He laughs, a deep, throaty chuckle, at your obvious relief.

"Ha! Even I, Shigesato Shibutani, am capable of mercy! But remember that when you choose to disobey the great edicts laid down by the faculty and Student Councils past, your life is in my hands! Just as I give, I also take away! Every one of our teachers here, no matter how polite they may or may not be, demands your respect as a student! It's the chain of command! Fail to follow it, and the entire system degenerates into chaos and anarchy! Sloth and filth! Depravity and crime! Common thugs like the ones that run with the Yatabuya Gang don't understand this. Never stoop to their level! Got it?"

Shibutani is being a little more dramatic than the situation deserves, but you're not about to protest. Instead, you nod in agreement. Shibutani seems satisfied.

"Fine then. If you understand, then I won't waste any more of our time. I've got a meeting to attend, and I'm sure Miss Tsukino would appreciate more of your guidance…err…" Shibutani looks around. "Where has Miss Tsukino gone to? I got so caught up in what I was saying that I didn't notice her leaving."

Sure enough, Mariko is nowhere to be found. You were so caught up in appeasing Shibutani that you didn't see her leave either!

"Well, I'll leave it to you to track her down and make sure she gets home safely, Katsuji. We have a promising year ahead of us." He stops in mid-stride. "And one more thing – the Student Council is looking for more members this year."

You can't imagine why anyone would be reluctant to join.

"I would be more than happy to recommend someone confident enough to do what they believe in…as long as they were willing to make more intelligent choices from now on," he says, raising an eyebrow at you.

Shibutani gives you a small salute in farewell and heads off down the hall towards the Student Council meeting room. Shibtuani appears to be offering you a seat on the Student Council, but you don't really feel confident enough to devote yourself to that right now. The entertainment value in enforcing the law around school is dubious as well.

But for the moment, you need to focus your energy on figuring out where Mariko went. You're not terribly worried about her; despite everything that happened today, nothing really fazed her much. Besides, she did just say that she was tired of people worrying about her. She probably just decided to head home while Shibutani finished chewing you out. You want to take up that Hayate guy on his offer and grab some ramen – you're starving despite lunch only being a few hours ago.

However, the strange way that she acted this morning is still in the back of your mind, and she _is_ still new in town. You'll have to pass on Hayate's offer today and stop by the house across the street on your way home.

Hayate seems a little disappointed when you decline, but not terribly so.

"Hey, I get it, man. Shit happens, right? And if you're checking in on Mari-chan, then how can I blame you? You're a smooth operator, man. All like, 'I…I just wanted to make sure you were okay, Mari-chan…I get so worried when you're not around.' And then she's like, 'Oh, Tetsuo-kun, you're so thoughtful and also attractive to me in multiple ways. Would you like to come inside for tea, cookies, and a three-hour long makeout session?' I like your style."

It's really not your style at all, but for the moment you're content to let Hayate believe what he wants. You agree to make plans for some other day and head home.

When you turn onto your street, the first thing you notice is the grey-haired woman standing outside of the house across the street from yours. She stares at you as you draw near, but after scrutinizing your face, she shakes her head and resumes watching the end of the street.

She's waiting for someone.

Didn't Mariko come home?

The woman takes notice of you again as you walk up to her. She's got the worn, tired look of someone who's constantly busy.

"Hey, you're Mariko's…" You pause for a moment to remember what Mariko said her relationship with this woman was. "…aunt, right?"

Mariko's aunt raises her eyebrows. Up close, you can kind of see the resemblance in parts of her face. It's funny, even though you've been neighbors for as long as you can remember, you've never actually spoken to any of them.

"Yes," she says. Tinges of panic are creeping into her voice. "Have you seen her?"

With that, your fears are all but confirmed, but you have to ask, just in case.

"Didn't she come home after school today?"

"No…I was hoping she'd just made some new friends and that maybe she'd gone out somewhere. But it's getting awfully late for that, and she's not answering my calls…" She stares towards the end of the street again.

"God, if anything happens to her…I think I'm gonna be sick. I'll never be able to look my brother in the eye…"

"I'll go and look for her. This is partially my fault anyways, I told her that I was going to show her around and I lost track of her."

Relief washes over her face. "Thank God. If you could bring her back for me, I couldn't tell you how grateful I'd be. We were both reluctant about this whole arrangement…if I ended up letting something happen to her, I'd just about die of shame. I'll let your parents know where you are. Just make sure she's all right, okay?"

You nod and take off down the street. You know Mariko probably wouldn't be pleased about you searching for her, but if what you're thinking is correct, you don't really think you have a choice. It's not pleasant to consider, but you have a feeling that you know exactly where Mariko's gone.


	5. Awakening

The crowd around town has thinned considerably since this morning, so you reach the intersection near the bridge within fifteen minutes. Traffic is also considerably – no - drastically lighter as well. In fact, there are almost no cars on the road at all. It almost seems to you as if people are deliberately trying to avoid the area...

You quickly shake that thought from your head. What reason could there be for that? From the looks of things, there's nothing strange or out of the ordinary going on around here. A lot of people must have just decided to take a different route home today, that's all.

With that resolved, you cross the intersection towards the bridge in hopes of finding Mariko somewhere along it. That's where she appeared to be heading this morning when she fell into that trance-like state. Come to think of it, she was awfully evasive when you asked her if anything was wrong. Hopefully the reason is inconsequential.

However, the minute you set foot on the bridge, you know that something isn't right. Shivers race from your head down to your toes, like you were just submerged in a tub of freezing ice water. The air itself feels…prickly, as if tiny shocks were igniting along your exposed skin as it moves. For a moment, your hearing becomes muddy, and the sounds of the city – cars, horns, the tinny voice of the walk signs at the streetlights, the voices of people – are muffled, bubbling at the very edges of your senses. But as you walk along the bridge, it begins to focus itself again, yet the only sound you can hear is the rippling of water as it moves below you. Still, there's no sign of Mariko.

Then, at the moment you lift your shoe to take the first step onto sidewalk on far side of the bridge, sharp pain suddenly engulfs your body! It spreads rapidly from your solar plexus, expanding to seemingly affect the ending of every nerve you have.

_"I art thou."_

The voice is deep and commanding, ringing in your mind like the peal of a massive bell. It rips through your mind with the force and intensity of a jet engine, and then, like the shockwave from an explosion, spreads to every extremity with an uncomfortable prickling sensation.

_"Thou art I."_

This proclamation detonates within you with even more strength than the last, to the point where it almost feels like your body and soul are being separated from one another. You clasp your hands to your head and drop to one knee, shaking yourself in a vain attempt to reclaim control.

Then, as quickly as it came, it ceases, and you're left kneeling on the ground gasping for breath. It barely lasted an instant, but it feels as though you've been writhing there for an hour. As you rise to your feet, you wonder if you're getting sick, but when you realize what's happened to the world around you, it seems like the least of your worries.

Before you is an imposing, golden wrought-iron gate that you're positive wasn't ever there before. And it's not the only thing. Beyond it, asphalt streets have given way to quaint roads paved with white brick, where there were once towering buildings and bustling shops, low, squat suburban houses have taken their place. Statues of angels line the street, tireless stone sentinels devoted to monitoring all those who wish to pass. In the distance, the Earth seems to defy its own rules as the path rises, branches, and twists into gravity-defying zig-zags that race towards islands suspended in midair. Above, the sky has turned a near-white shade of blue, and lavender clouds scud gently across its surface.

Awestruck, you stumble towards the gate and lightly press on it with one hand. It's not at all heavy, and swings open invitingly with just that one touch.

You hesitate at the entrance, staring with your mouth agape and trying desperately to make sense of what you're seeing. There's absolutely no way that you could really be experiencing what you're seeing right now. There was no sign of any of this from the other side of bridge. How could it just pop into existence? It must have something to do with that strange sensation you experienced on the bridge, but you can't seem to think of a suitable explanation that connects the two.

Another thought dawns on you while you consider the circumstances leading up to your finding yourself here: did whatever just happened to you happen to Mariko this morning? When you caught her with her eyes half-closed, stumbling about like she was half-asleep, was she experiencing the same things? Obviously, she hadn't felt the pain you did – you would have noticed if she had. But the way she looked and the way you felt are too similar to dismiss as coincidence. She must be somewhere around here…somewhere beyond this gate.

"Mariko-chan!" you call into the village beyond. No response. You'll have to go in after her.

A part of you is scared out of your wits to set foot in a strange, unfamiliar place like this, especially one that just appeared out of thin air. It can't exist, and it _shouldn't_ exist. But it does, and no matter how many times you pinch yourself, you're not waking up from this dream. But your curiosity is overpowering your fear, and what's more, something is telling you that this is something you were _meant_ to do.

_Fate_.

The word echoes through your mind, resonating and intensifying in power like a tuning fork until you can no longer hold back. You made a promise to find Mariko, one you intend to keep, regardless of how strange your circumstances are.

Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself and step over the threshold.

Almost instantly, a shriek rises above the rooftops and an almost oppressive force presses against your body, causing you to take a step back. Somewhere in between the rows of houses in the distance, a plume of what looks like black smoke erupts accompanied by another wretched wail. It rises high into the sky like a signal, churning and undulating for what seems like an eternity before dissipating in a light breeze. You instinctively take a step backwards, only to discover that the gate has shut itself behind you and won't budge. Another plume of smoke rockets into the sky, this time much closer.

You have no idea what it is, but one thing is immediately obvious as another shriek and tower of smoke punctuates the sky only a couple hundred feet from you: it's coming for you.

That, coupled with a fresh wave of fear-induced adrenaline, forces your body to move before it's caught and killed. Of course, you don't know for sure what is chasing you, but your intuition is screaming at you that it wants you dead for daring to set foot here.

You consider trying to hop the gates, but you can't bring yourself to stay put for even a second longer. Not only that, but leaving that thing behind would also mean leaving Mariko with it, and that's something you simply can't convince yourself to do.

Instead, you reason that it would be easiest to lose your pursuer in the maze of lanes that run in between the myriad houses. However, the second you turn down one of the streets, the shrieks start coming in quicker intervals. You don't dare look behind you to confirm it, but you bet that the plumes of smoke are coming faster and closer as well.

The tapping of your sneakers on the bricks as you sprint sounds way too loud in your ears, and you just know that it's giving away your position to the horrible thing that's chasing you through the maze. The only thing you can do is push your body to its absolute limit and pray that you'll be able to outrun it. Once you've done that, then you can worry about finding Mariko and get the hell out of here.

You blast past hundreds of houses, careening down seemingly endless, uninhabited streets that all seem to be connected to one another. Eventually, the houses on either sight become indistinguishable beige blurs as you throw yourself further and further into this insidiously deceptive neighborhood. Planting your foot firmly into the pavement, you rapidly turn a corner into one of the streets only to be stopped dead in your tracks.

Crouching (or at least, it seems to be crouching; its anatomy is too different from your own to really be sure) only a few feet away at an intersection between two paths is some monstrous, smoking, oozing blob of what looks like black tar. Nearly as tall as you and twice as wide, it's planted itself right in the middle of the path with its back to you. It hasn't noticed you, probably because it looks like it's preoccupied with some other task. Its back arches and shudders violently causing the surface of its body to quiver grotesquely. With each horrible lurch, it emits a guttural shriek similar to the ones that came from the other, but much lower, as if they were passed through one of those sound filters designed to protect peoples' identities on TV. You're reminded of a stray cat hunching over a freshly caught bird, and all at once, you understand what it's doing.

It's eating something.

Your mind immediately assumes the worst, that it must have caught Mariko. Although you're about ready to soil yourself in fear of this…_thing_, you summon up whatever remaining bastions of courage you have left to creep delicately to the left to allow yourself a better view. Fortunately, when the front of the creature comes into view, you can tell that it's not Mariko that it's devouring. However, you immediately wish that you hadn't been so curious.

The creature doesn't have a face so much as it has, well, you suppose a _mask_ would be the best way to describe it. A slab of polished metal in the shape of a sunburst appears to have been affixed to the blob, pressed onto it like a decoration in some hideous black dough. Two small slits for eyes like black teardrops are cut from the sides. It could be that you just aren't looking at the right angle to see them, but from here it doesn't look as if there are any eyes peering out from the behind it.

However, it is the rows of massive, tombstone teeth protruding from the bottom of the mask in a wretched, demented grin that make you hesitate to truly call it one. It's both a mask _and_ a face, which is honestly twice as awful as either one alone. Each time the creature bends over to rip another chunk from its prey, it pulls its gleaming "lips" back to bare those horrible teeth before taking another massive, messy bite.

From what you can tell, the thing it's eating is another creature like it, only much smaller and evidently, much weaker. The sight would make you vomit if you weren't so worried that it would hear you retching. Whatever these…_abominations_ are, they're hungry enough to feast on each other. What would they do if they got ahold of you?

You haven't heard any shrieks from the one that was chasing you before in a while, and neither have you caught sight of any more smoke geysers above the rooftops. For now, the best choice would be to back away quietly and carefully from this creature while it's preoccupied.

Beads of sweat trickle down your face and soak the collar of your shirt as you take each silent, controlled step backwards and away from the creature. Craning your head to look behind you, you notice a narrow alleyway in between a couple of the houses that you might be able to squeeze through. It's only a few feet away, and if you can reach it, you should be able to hide there until the creature finishes and leaves.

You begin to make your way over towards the alley, but as you do, the creature makes an ugly sighing sound, and its mask-face rolls upwards on its gelatinous body towards the sky. It then lets loose a cacophonous shriek that blasts into the sky and echoes down in between every house for miles. It attacks your eardrums with such force that it causes you to suddenly clutch your ears in midstep.

The sudden imbalance sends you tumbling right onto your rear end, clutching your ears in pain until the ringing subsides. If it were to turn around, it certainly wouldn't have a hard time capturing you, and you'd end up just like that smaller creature. Fortunately, the pain dissipates fairly quickly, allowing you to softly rise to your feet and head for the alleyway again. This time, you don't care whether or not you can see if it's coming after you, you turn yourself around so that you can reach the alley as quickly as possible. And as you do so, an enormous pillar of smoke erupts in front of you, and an ear-splitting shriek cuts through the stillness.

As you figured, the thing that was chasing you looks just like the one behind you at the intersection, and when you turn back around, you're mortified to discover that it's spotted you now as well and is lurching towards you!

Your survival instincts kick in once again, and you make a break for the alley, pumping your legs for all their worth. Just inches from the mouth of the alley, a thick, black tendril darts forward from the creature that was chasing you, and the end takes the shape of a long, bony hand. It reaches for your head, but at the last second you have the presence of mind to drop to the ground and slide under it into the shelter of the alley.

Both creatures slam into each other, grabbing, squealing, and scrabbling with elongated tendril arms into the cramped entryway, desperately trying to latch on to some part of your body in order to drag you out. You flip onto your rear end and scramble further back into the confined space. You don't dare take your eyes off of them anymore. However, your back hits a solid wall far sooner than you'd like. Looking up, the wall is too tall for you to climb, especially with those things getting closer with every second. There's nowhere to run or hide now. The only thing you can do now is wait to die.

One of the creatures then finally relinquishes a bit of space to the other, allowing it to reach further into the alley and wrap its hand around your ankle. Its grip is ridiculously strong for something so brittle-looking, and without any exertion at all, it forcefully hoists you into the air and flings you out of the alleyway and into a flowerbed on the other side of the street.

Petals explode around you as you crash down into the soil and skid through the dirt into the wall of the house behind you. The force of the impact robs the air from your lungs, and you can just barely sit up in time enough to see the tendril flying towards you at tremendous speed. With as much strength as you can muster, you roll your battered body to the left, and the tendril smashes harmlessly into the ground beside you, kicking up a spray of soil into your face. But just as soon as you've dodged that, the creature has already cocked its appendage back for another strike. You try to stand up so that you can try to maneuver around them and down the street, but your legs have turned to jelly, and as soon as you get upright, your knees buckle and the tendril slams into your side with cruel force.

The impact sends you spiraling to the ground where you land face-first in the dirt. Propping yourself up on your elbows, pain lances through your side where the creature struck you, forcing you to drop back to the ground howling. Colors pop in front of your eyes, and your head is positively swimming. As you roll yourself face up, you can see the creatures advancing you, their shining teeth gnashing in anticipation beneath those pitch black eye slits.

This is it. This is how you're going to die, in a strange place, devoured by eldritch masked monsters, and no one will know how it happened. All of a sudden, in the face of certain death, your life seems starkly, pathetically unfulfilling. There is nothing you've done that you're proud of. Not even your guitar playing has gone anywhere. You've never kissed a girl, graduated high school, made a real friend, planned for a career…and now you never will.

"No…" you breathe. Your voice sounds wavering and pleading in your ears.

"_No, no…please no…I don't want to die,"_ you gasp, pulling yourself backwards against the wall of the house. The creatures are nearly upon you, and their heavy breathing suffocates your senses.

_"I don't want to die. I don't want to_ die."

This litany of desperation seems futile; meaningless to the monsters that continue to advance upon you and pathetic to your ears as they escape your lips.

_"I DON'T WANT TO DIE!"_ you scream._ "GODDAMMIT, GIMME ANOTHER CHANCE!"_

And then, time itself seems to freeze. All sounds cease, the creatures halt in their tracks. The stillness is overwhelming. And then, the voice returns.

_"Thou art I! And I am thou. In the sea of thine soul I sleep, Launcelot, knight of the lake! If thou wouldst conquer fear, summon me to thine side!"_

Its voice rebounds inside your head millions of times in that one instant, and you know exactly what to do. The word leaps into your head, and repeats itself constantly as if begging for release from your tongue. And without thinking, it then escapes your lips, three syllables whispered as if in prayer:

_"Per-"_

_"So-"_

_"Na."_

A harsh light pours forth from the skies above, causing the creatures to recoil and writhe in pain. The sound of whistling wind causes you to look towards the sky behind you just in time to witness an enormous object plummet through the air and into the house, crushing almost half of it.

You stare up at it in awe, wondering if it was really you that did this. It's a gigantic card, emblazoned with the picture of a man with a bag slung over his shoulder.

_"The Fool_." The voice surfaces from somewhere deep in your memory.

Then, as if damaged by the sudden impact with the ground, shining cracks race across the surface of the card, and it shatters into countless pieces. The debris begins to swirl in the air behind you, a cascade of glimmering, ethereal material. Little chunks of it begin to stick together, and bit by bit, something begins to form from the pieces. A leg, an armored torso, a shield, a helmet with a plume of flowing horsehair; the silhouette of a knight is beginning to take shape, floating there in front of your very eyes! The last pieces then come together like a puzzle, and the summoning is complete.

Before you now floats an armored knight equipped with a massive lance and shield. Its entire face, save for a thin pair of lips, is obscured by a pointed visor. Long, straight black hair falls over a ragged red cape that flutters in some invisible breeze. It rapidly flexes its limbs outwards like a star with a booming shout, and a wave of energy ripples through the air, raising goosebumps on your arms and causing the creatures to cower and hiss.

Launcelot. It feels like it's been with you – inside of you – for a very long time. You can sense the same sort of presence in it as the monsters in front of you – both possess a foreign, powerful aura about them. But where the creature is threatening and malevolent, you instantly feel confident and rejuvenated with Launcelot. Even your side doesn't hurt anymore.

Rising to your feet, you turn around to face the creatures and look over your shoulder to Launcelot.

"You…are you here to help me?"

Launcelot nods. It's much less talkative outside of your mind, apparently.

"Then…with you, I can take these things, right?"

Launcelot smiles.

You can't help but grin as well. It's all you needed to know.

You reach behind your head and pull your guitar out of its soft case. You don't have a real weapon, so unfortunately, your baby will have to do in a pinch. But a guitar can be replaced, your life can't. Besides, if nothing else, Pete Townshend would approve.

You advance on the creatures, which shrink from you with each step. As their fear grows, your confidence rises. You've been chosen – by whom or why you have no clue – to have this power, and with it you can save yourself and Mariko from this place.

"All right," you yell, "who's first?!"

As if sensing your intention to rumble, one of the creatures makes a desperate lunge you, perhaps hoping to take you unawares. Steadying your breath, you adopt a lower stance and swing your guitar at it like a golf club with all of your might. It connects with a satisfying _thwack_, taking an entire chunk off of its gelatinous body and sending it soaring through the air where it dissipates into black smoke before hitting the ground. Surprisingly, your guitar isn't even harmed by the impact. You had no idea you had this much strength.

The thing itself tumbles to the ground, a quivering heap of black ooze. Its mask slithers across the surface of its body until it faces you again, and it howls with anger. Evidently, it doesn't take too kindly to being challenged by its food.

The creature sprouts a number of thin appendages this time and thrusts at you with all of them at once. As they soar through the air towards you, they quiver and reform themselves into the shape of gleaming, onyx-black broadswords. On pure instinct, you shut your eyes and raise your arm to shield yourself, even though there's no way that your clothing will protect you from the blades. However, not a single one touches you. When you open your eyes, Launcelot has moved in front of you with his shield raised, and the creature is frantically (but fruitlessly) hacking against it with all its might, the gooey blades glancing off in showers of sparks and harsh clangs. Finally, the creature pulls back all its tendrils and catapults them towards Launcelot all at once. Launcelot braces itself and pushes its shield into the strike. The blades slam point first into the metal and shake violently as the creature pours all its strength into piercing Launcelot's defensive magic. However, with one movement, Launcelot easily turns all the blades aside with its shield, leaving the creature completely vulnerable.

Launcelot hefts its lance in front of it and darts towards the creature's exposed visage. The point of the lance buries itself in between its teeth and sinks in even further when Launcelot applies more pressure. With one more push, Launcelot pierces through the creature entirely, splitting it into two pieces. The halves of the creature momentarily fall still before it emits one more ear-splitting shriek and disintegrating into a cloud of black smoke. The halves of its mask clang harmlessly to the ground in its wake.

The first of your assailants dead, you turn your attention to the other, which appears to be deciding whether or not to try its luck or escape. The way you see it, it doesn't have an option.

"You're not getting away! Launcelot!" you shout.

Launcelot swiftly pivots about to face the creature. Its body begins to shimmer with a supernatural greenish aura, and with a swipe of its lance into the air, massive blades of wind rip through the air towards the creature. Upon contact, they shear its body into four pieces, all of which collapse into puddles of murk before bursting into puffs of smoke like the other one.

Its job complete, Launcelot returns to the ground and strides up to you. Looking into its eyes, you can see nothing but yourself reflected in them. Launcelot places one mailed hand on your shoulder, and then dissipates in a flash of blue light. As it fades, a bright blue butterfly, the only recognizable living thing you've seen since you entered, flaps gently around your head before alighting on your hand. It rests there for a few seconds, its fragile wings lightly rising and falling. You've never seen one quite like it before. Well, you've seen pictures of blue butterflies, but none quite like this one. Its blue is practically luminescent. It's somehow reassuring to look at, as if it were a sign telling you that you're going to make it out of here alive. It remains on your hand just long enough for you to consider why it's even here before taking off into the sky and out of sight.

All of a sudden, you feel exhausted. In the heat of the fight, you hadn't paid it any mind, but just being in here is beginning to make you feel sleepy. You give your head a shake and your face a couple of slaps to ward off the feeling. Even though you might have gotten out of a tussle with those creatures in once piece, you bet that Mariko wouldn't be so lucky without the kind of power you have.

Your power…where on Earth did all of that come from?

There's not much doubt that it was you that summoned Launcelot to protect you. In a way, you think it was also you that directed it to protect you and attack those monsters. And while you were fighting with Launcelot, you yourself were much stronger. You doubt you could have done what you did to that monster with only your guitar otherwise. Flashes of your conversation on that boat – the Velvet Room – and shades of another conversation half-remembered bubble to the surface of your thoughts. Is this what they meant about potential? This power, the mysterious appearance of this village beyond the bridge, those monsters…none of it makes a lick of sense to you, yet somehow, you feel tied into it all. If you ever make it out of here, you'll need to make a point to make another visit and get those two to tell you what all this mess is all about…somehow. You haven't worked out the specifics. At any rate, the task at hand comes first.

You'd like to know how large this place is, but it's impossible to tell from down here on the street. None of the houses around here are particularly tall, but if you could make it onto the roof of one of them, it'd be a nice start.

On the inside, the houses are almost entirely empty. Well, devoid of life, at least. The furnishings are bland and a little shabby – tatami mat flooring, a small kitchen sans dishwasher, one TV set, a tattered couch, and three plainly-furnished bedrooms upstairs. It reminds you of your relatives' house, the ones who live in the country. Just enough to support a modest-sized family. However, instead of being full of life; the smell of cooking food, chatter between parents and children, and the low hum of the TV, it's empty as school on Sunday and silent as a crypt. The effect unsettles you, so you don't hang around for long and instead venture up to one of the bedrooms in search of a window.

The one closest to the stairs has a couple that slide open rather easily. Gingerly placing your guitar on the couch below the sill, you hoist yourself through the window backwards and grab hold of the edge of the roof. Surprisingly, you're able to heave yourself up to the roof with relative ease. You don't remember being this strong before. You seem to remember having a hard time even doing one pull up in Gym. You wonder if this is because of Launcelot as well.

Atop the roof, a quick survey of the area reveals something that you were afraid of: the maze of houses is extensive. However, off in the distance and to your right a little ways, one structure rises up out of the sea of squat country homes. It's easily ten times the size of anything in the area or on any of the low-hanging islands in the sky, and scanning the area around it, you notice that all of the larger, main roads run right towards it, including the one leading down from the gate where you entered. While you're up here, you try to see if you can spy anything familiar beyond it, but all there is is more of the blue abyss. It's like you're trapped in a little girl's snow globe.

A sigh escapes your lips. One problem after another. You glance at your watch, but the hands are spinning wildly, making it effectively useless. Not that it matters at this point. By now this has got to be the latest you've been out after school anyways. Mom probably won't care; if you _do_ manage to escape, you'll probably make it home before her anyways. Dad'll chew you out, though.

But before you can consider escape, you'll have to find Mariko first. You decide that the large building would be a decent place to start, as anything that breaks up the monotony of this place deserves investigation.


	6. Interlopers, Enforcers

You're not approached by any creatures on the way down the road, although every once in a while you think you spy a trail of black smoke disappearing down a side street or into an alley. Word must have gotten around.

At some point which seems to you like halfway between the house where you met those creatures and the dominating edifice on the horizon, you arrive at an intersection between two roads, and hear a faint sound coming from your left. You take a few tentative steps towards it, and as you do, it resolves into something more familiar: a boy yelling, his screams laced with terror.

There's no doubt about it – the voice is too low to be Mariko's. There must be someone else trapped in here besides the two of you, and it sounds like he's gotten himself into the same situation you just escaped from. There's no guarantee that you'll make it in time to save him, but right now there's no one else around, let alone anyone who stands a chance against those monsters. In a sense, the power of Launcelot leaves you with no choice.

With a deep breath and resigned sigh, you turn away from the path that leads towards the center of the strange village and veer north to investigate the cause of the commotion.

With each block you travel, the screaming grows closer and closer, rising in volume and in pitch, telling the story of the victim's desperate bids for escape. Eventually, the path opens up onto a wide square, and the sight that meets your eyes still manages to defy your expectations in spite of everything you've witnessed to this point.

The first thing that catches your attention is the boy. He looks to be around your age, with a mat of long, wavy black hair that looks like it would obscure his vision, but fails to hide the expression of sheer terror plastered on his face. He wears your school's uniform, too, but that's not his most distinguishable feature. What you notice above all else is his wheelchair, his skinny arms pumping at the rims of its wheels frantically as he flees from the next thing to arrest your attention.

It looms almost eight feet tall, a mishmash of iconography and appliance. From the neck down, it's similar to the typical image of an angel in sculpture and paintings – flowing, pristine, white robe, pale, porcelain skin, and spread, white wings. However, this heavenly image is then immediately blasphemed by the low-end television set perched upon its shoulders, antennae bent and displaying nothing but the image of a sunburst mask – the same those creatures were wearing – on a background of static. Manacles are clamped tightly around its ankles, chains rattling behind it as it pursues its target.

You make to step forward into its path, to put yourself in between it and the boy in the wheelchair. However, you can barely move an inch before a bolt of lightning erupts from the thing's antennae and strikes the boy's chair. The strike upends the chair, sending it skittering across the square on its side and pitching the boy onto the ground. He doesn't move at first, and immediately you fear the worst. He got hit by lightning while sitting in a metal chair – by all rights that ought to kill him. But amazingly, he groans loudly and laboriously turns himself onto his back to face his attacker. He's in pain – but _alive_.

His eyes flit towards you, and he notices your presence for the first time. They go wide, pleading with you for some kind of help. He pushes himself backwards on his hands, his legs unresponsive in front of him. It's now or never.

The sky opens up just like before, and with a _crack_ and a flash of light, an enormous card strikes the pavement, sending pieces of cracked brick flying into your face. However, it's not the same card as before. And the phantasm materializing opposite the creature is not Launcelot.

Its shape is decidedly feminine, slimmer and with wider hips. Its hair flares out behind it in thin strands like shafts of sunlight. They're so intense, it almost looks like they're on fire. It's wearing a strange sort of crimson, angular suit that tightly hugs its body and flares out along the legs and arms. Thin, intricate detailing that shines with a piercing, sparkling light run up and down its body seemingly feeding into its palms, where two balls of crackling flame hover gently. Its face is nearly obscured by the brightness, but you can barely make out two dark, round eyes and the hint of a smiling mouth.

"Step aside and stay out of the way," commands a muffled voice to your right. Someone wearing what looks like a black scuba diving wetsuit with turquoise piping and a motorcycle helmet places a hand on your shoulder, pushing past you to stand underneath the new Persona. The wetsuit's pretty form-fitting, leaving little question to her gender. But the helmet obscures her entire face and hair, and effectively masks her voice. In her right hand, she holds a nine-iron golf club, which she twirls like a baton as she stares down the creature. It stares (or at least, as far as you can tell, it's staring) back at her in an almost confused sort of way, its screen flickering rapidly in a hum of static feedback. For the moment, it seems to have forgotten all about the guy in the wheelchair, who continues to crawl towards some bushes on the side of the road. The girl in the wetsuit then begins talking to no one in particular.

"Looks like I've run into something interesting! What do I have here?" she asks. You have no idea what she's talking about and you're about to tell her so when a clear, confident voice resounds out of nowhere. It belongs to a guy, probably someone close to your age from the sound of it.

"Seems you've found the Persona. Not quite what we're looking for, but it's a good opportunity to really piss off the Dreamweaver. Don't let it get away, but be careful."

"When aren't I?" the girl responds with a shrug of her shoulders and begins marching towards the creature. Needless to say, the situation's somehow gotten more confusing. These things that come from the cards are supposed to be Personas, or at least that's what you figured. But now that television angel thing is _also_ a Persona? You'd like to ask this wetsuit girl to explain herself, but she's a little busy at the moment.

"Come on! First move's yours!" she shouts through the helmet, pointing her golf club at the Persona like a sword. At first, it doesn't react to her challenge, instead leaning towards her like a curious cat inspecting a bug. You inadvertently begin holding your breath, waiting for it to cast lightning at her like it did the other guy. For a few seconds, neither one moves. Then, as if tired of the stalemate, the girl heaves a heavy sigh, steps forward, and cracks the Persona on the underside of the television with a swift swing of her club. She moves so fast, you barely see it happen. Its screen goes black as if someone had switched it off, and it goes reeling backwards across the square, its wings beating frantically to stabilize itself. When it does manage to regain its balance, the screen flickers back to life with a wicked hiss of red static, and the image of the sunburst mask shakes violently in the picture.

"That got her going," the girl muses, standing her ground as the Persona charges her with its arms outstretched.

"Just don't take it too far. Elaine really doesn't have the right tools to incapacitate this thing," the voice reprimands. "And from what I'm getting on my end, it's quite a bit tougher than any Enforcer Persona we've seen so far."

"_Technically_, I guess," the girl says, sidestepping the Persona's charge like a matador and delivering a precise blow to the small of its back. "But I'm the one fighting it right now, and it seems pretty clumsy to me. I might not even need Elaine." It tumbles to the pavement, rolling over on its side until it comes to rest near the opposite side of the square. The force of her blow is astounding – she doesn't look like she'd be able to hit that hard, yet she's been knocking this monster around the square like a sack of potatoes. You and the girl watch it cautiously, but it doesn't seem to be moving. Is it…dead? It doesn't seem very likely, considering that some _people_ wouldn't even be killed with a couple swings from a golf club.

The girl doesn't seem to think so either, as she keeps her distance and doesn't recall her Persona. "This one wasn't nearly as fun as I thought it would be. Let's just put it away already. Elaine!" She nods to the Persona, which has been patiently coasting in midair just behind her this entire time. It lifts its palms towards the sky. A mass of dark, reddish clouds begin to form above the prone Persona, swirling ominously and accompanied by a distant, low rumbling. That rumbling begins to grow louder and louder, ramping up in pitch, and as it does so, a hole opens up in the clouds, a bright, orange aperture that seems to suck the light from the surrounding skies.

Then, spears of flame rip the clouds apart, seeming to ignite the entire sky. A massive pillar of fire erupts from the hole in the sky and screams towards the Persona, colliding with it and bursting into a massive ball of fire that explodes outwards towards you and the girl. You flinch and raise your arms as if that would save you from being immolated, but the wall of flame dies out before it reaches you, despite the size and force of the explosion you just witnessed. Compared to Launcelot, the power of her Persona is overwhelming – it has a definite weight to it that you can feel hanging in the hot air.

"Agidyne? That might have been a little overkill," the voice remarks. The girl sniffs at that.

"There's no such thing as overkill in the Cloud. And besides, weren't _you_ the one who's been telling me it was tough?"

The voice sighs. "Whatever, we don't have time for this 'he said, she said' thing. Just move on and focus on tracking down that Dreamweaver."

"What about the other two? They could see it."

"Really? Persona users?"

"Doesn't seem like it. They were about to be killed before I showed up."

Well that's hardly a fair assumption. You're about to tell her that you were about to take care of that Persona yourself when a shadow within the slowly dying flames behind the girl catches your eye.

You can hardly believe it. Despite the massive impact of the blast from that girl's Persona, the creature is somehow pulling itself upright again. It hasn't come away from the attack unscathed. There are a number of holes burned through its robe, which is now grey with ash, and the old-fashioned wooden paneling on the television screen bears numerous scorch marks. Despite that, the thing is still _alive_, and spreading its wings wide for another strike at the girl, who's completely oblivious to the fact that it's practically survived being nuked.

"_Hey! Watch out!_" you yell out to her. She whips around to see the Persona collecting electricity in its antennae, ready to fire.

"What the…" she breathes, and at that moment, the creature looses the bolt towards her. Instinctively, you cry out for Launcelot. There's a blinding, bright flash as your Persona appears and the bolt of electricity sizzles through the air. For a while, you can see nothing but white, but gradually, you blink the world back into focus.

The girl is alive, standing right behind Launcelot, apparently unharmed. Launcelot's shield smokes where the bolt hit it, and static leftover from the attack crackles wickedly in the air. Your uniform is even sticking to your skin because of it! She turns to you, her expression concealed within her helmet, but her voice betrays her surprise.

"You…that's…" she stammers, looking back and forth between you and Launcelot, which is busy poking at the enemy with its lance. The moment of bewilderment doesn't last long, however, as she quickly straightens back up and rests her golf club on her shoulder.

"Well then, that explains some things. But let me tell you something: if you let your Persona fight _her_ Persona, you're going to get yourself killed. You know that, right?" You shake your head. You haven't had Launcelot for very long, so you haven't considered what would happen if it died. And considering how well Launcelot seems to be holding its own right now, it hardly seems relevant. The girl shakes her head in disapproval.

"Should have figured. You probably just awakened to him, right? There's no time to go into a whole spiel about what a Persona is, but know this: that Persona isn't just a part of you, he _is_ you. They don't say all that '_thou art I, I art thou_' stuff to hear themselves talk. Whatever happens to him, happens to you, and vice versa. And right now, your Persona is ridiculously overmatched. That Enforcer isn't real _physically _strong, but her magic packs a wallop. One good zap and you'll be toast. For now, why don't you let Elaine and I help you get rid of this one?" she offers, extending her hand. You grasp it firmly and give it a brief shake.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Are you sure about letting him in on this? I was under the impression that we were trying to keep a low profile," says the voice.

"We're not letting him in on anything. In fact, you should be pleased: I'm calling you right about the Enforcer. It's too much for either of us to handle on our own. So for the time being, we may as well pool our resources."

"If you say so. Hey, buddy," the voice calls, presumably to you.

"Yeah?" you respond.

"Oh wow, you can already hear me. Guess that makes sense what with the Persona thing and all. Anyhow, would you mind letting me take a look at it?"

"What? Why?"

"Oh, for Pete's sake, dude, I'm just gonna analyze it real quick to find out if your Persona's a little better suited to taking that thing down than hers. Just gimme a minute."

The voice falls silent for a few moments, and you look nervously back towards the battle where Launcelot and Elaine are grabbing the other Persona's arms to keep it from lunging at the two of you. The mask on its screen is jittering around madly, and it looks like your Personas are struggling to keep a hold of its thrashing limbs. Then, it manages to pull one of them free and clamps it over Launcelot's helmet. A surge of electricity surges through its arms and into Launcelot. Immediately, you feel a surge of pain course through your body, from your head all the way down into your toes, and you crumple to your knees with your extremities tingling and shaking involuntarily. Elaine quickly grabs at the other arm, bringing them together behind its back and trying to avoid being buffeted by its flapping wings.

"Are you alright?" asks the girl, bending over to help you up and get your body back under control. You've never been shocked before, and you don't have any desire to be again. It feels like every inch of your skin is vibrating, and your muscles have turned to jelly. "Hate to say I told you so, but this is the kind of thing we're talking about. If you want to fight using a Persona, you'd better be tough enough for it."

"Well, sometimes it's better to find out the hard way," the voice says. "Anyhow, we're in luck. Looks like this guy's Persona specializes in wind magic. If he can land a solid hit on it, that ought to knock it out long enough for you to really put it away."

The girl turns towards you again. "Did you hear that? All you need to do is get your Persona to hit the Enforcer with some magic, and I'll take care of the rest. Sound simple enough?"

You nod, as does Launcelot. "Tell your Persona to let go of it!" you shout to her. The girl then gestures to Elaine, who lets go of the Enforcer's arms. Free from restraint, it emits its loudest hiss yet and surges towards you. Visible ropes of electricity course along its figure as it charges. Now that it's running you down, it seems ten times more terrifying than it was when you were watching it get knocked around by a girl with a golf club. But if she can stand up to it, so can you. Launcelot needs to hit it full-on, so you need to stand your ground as long as you can to make it an easy target.

"Now, Launcelot!"" you yell when you can't afford to stay still any longer. As you slide down to the ground, the Enforcer soars right over your head so close your skin prickles, and continues right towards Launcelot, who's been waiting behind you with its lance clasped in both gloved hands. He raises it skywards, and with a flash of green, blades of wind slam into the enemy, accompanied by a tremendous gust that sends you rolling along the pavement.

Dragging yourself to your feet, you see that your strike was dead on – the enemy Persona's crumpled up into a heap on the ground, stunned.

"That's perfect! Now's our shot at an all-out attack!" cries the girl. She raises her club up over her head and charges past you towards the dazed Enforcer. "C'mon!" Removing your guitar from its case, you heft it over your shoulder and leap after her. With a mighty swing, she bashes the Enforcer in the back of the screen, the image of the mask cutting out in a spurt of static. You follow up with a blow to its back, your guitar _twang_ing with the impact. The Enforcer tumbles onto its stomach and its head smacks into the ground. As it attempts to pick itself up, you can see a thin crack running from corner of its screen to the other.

"Don't let it get back up!" says the girl. "Let's finish this now!"

You both rush towards it with your makeshift weapons raised, and bring them down onto the Enforcer's head with all of your strength. The contact sends shivers skittering up your arms as your guitar and her club smash right through the top of the set. The Persona's entire body shudders violently, then falls completely still. You and the girl exchange glances, unsure of whether or not it's over.

Suddenly, the Persona explodes in a shower of black butterflies, and you fall onto your backside out of surprise as they swarm into your face. As they rise higher and higher into the air, the black begins to chip off of their wings like old paint, revealing the same luminescent blue of the butterfly you saw earlier after defeating those monsters. The flakes of black drift gently back down towards your upturned faces, vanishing in little puffs of smoke before hitting the ground.

However, a soft glow redirects your attention back towards the ground. A translucent, shimmering figure hovers where the Enforcer fell. In some ways, it resembles the Enforcer, but it's not entirely the same. The television set head and mask are gone, replaced by a gently smiling, kindly woman's face with streaming brown hair. In her arms, she cradles a large, hefty sword with a blade that's nearly as long as you are tall. Two angel's wings flap idly behind her, emitting sparks with each beat. She nods towards you once before fading out of sight.

"Wait, what was that?" you breathe to the girl.

"That was what her Persona really looks like; how it was before the Cloud's Dreamweaver took control of it."

"Sorry, but all that? It means almost nothing to me."

She cocks her head towards you. "This really _is_ your first time in a Cloud, isn't it?" She sighs. "I don't really have the time to explain every last thing to you, but here's the best I can do. This whole place-" she gestures broadly around in a circle "-is a Cloud. A Dream Cloud, as a matter of fact. A big one, too. I'm sure you've noticed, but this place is a little separated from reality."

You nod. After everything that's happened this afternoon, this has by far been the easiest bit of information to swallow. "Then this is someone's dream?" you ask.

"A projection of someone's dream, actually. Their perfect world, drawn out of their mind by a Dreamweaver and given tangible form, if we're just going to out-and-out spill everything we know," the voice chimes in. "A Cloud is a weird little area between mind and matter, born from a person's subconscious. Naturally, that makes it easy for Personas to manifest…as well as Shadows. I'm sure you've seen a couple by now – they seem to like that disgusting, blobby shape around here."

"Bit of a shame. Ruins the aesthetic," the girl remarks.

"_Right_. Would that they had the sense of style you, do huh? Anyhow, if you're wondering why you don't see anyone else around, that's why."

Your face scrunches up in horror. "They got eaten by those things?"

"What? No! No. They _are_ those things. Kind of. Rather, every Shadow you see is a representation of someone's innermost thoughts and feelings. Right now, they're all asleep, in a way. That is to say, they've bought into the dream. They've accepted it as reality. The only reason why you're not appearing as a Shadow too is because you're 'awake'. There must have been something your brain couldn't accept as real, and it rejected the illusion.

"The Shadows, though, they don't like that. When they sense that something's wandering around 'awake' in the Cloud, they try to eliminate it. Same with Enforcers like the one we just fought. They're basically the dreamer's Persona that's gone berserk from the shock of the dreamer's internal thoughts suddenly becoming external. It makes it easy for the Dreamweaver to let them loose and send them after threats. That's why people wandering around like that without Personas are a bit of a hassle. You're basically walking targets."

"Speaking of which," says the girl, "where's that other guy?"

"Here," pipes up a wispy voice from the shrubbery. The boy slowly emerges from his hiding place, dragging himself forward with his arms towards his toppled chair. The girl rushes over to right it while you help the boy over your shoulder and ease him back into it. "I'm still a little frazzled, but…I _think_ I'm okay."

"Are you sure, dude? You got hit by lightning," you say. He nods his head.

"Y-yeah, I'm perfectly fine, but…what _were_ those things? And just who are you guys? Some kinda superheroes?"

"Hmm…kinda. Don't know about _him_," the girl nods in your direction, "but fighting these things is my forte. You could call it a service for the people," she says with a smug grin, and the voice groans.

"Knock it off. The last thing we need is a bunch of vigilante Persona users getting in our way. You took out the Enforcer, so let's get a move on and find the Dreamweaver so we can terminate this Cloud already."

The girl nonchalantly swats at the air as if to wave the voice away. "You're just grouchy because you drew nav duty today. Besides, I'm curious about something." She turns to you and the boy in the wheelchair. "You," she says, pointing, "you were probably able to resist the Dreamweaver because you could summon your Persona. But you…" Her gaze turns to the other boy. "What about you? Can you summon your Persona?" The boy's eyes fall to his feet.

"I-I don't think so. I don't really even know what you're talking about, to be honest. Personas…they're those things you used to fight for you, right? I feel like if I could summon one of those, I'd probably know," he says, an edge of dejection creeping into his tone.

"Hey, don't worry about it," she says, stepping forward and placing a hand on his shoulder. "It's not like just anyone can summon their Persona. But," she says, taking on a more serious tone, "if you can't protect yourself, you need to get out of here ASAP. It's actually safer for regular people to stay asleep inside of a Cloud – I don't know how you managed it, but waking up just makes you an easy target for Shadows."

The girl turns her head towards the sky to address the voice. "I'll be taking this guy out of here for now so he doesn't end up as Shadow food. We'll rendezvous at the usual point once I've made sure he's safe."

"Why not just let the other guy take him? I don't know if you've forgotten, but we kind of have a job to do here." The girl cracks a sly smile at that.

"Actually, I want _him_ to take on the Dreamweaver."

"You've got to be kidding."

"Not at all. He can summon a Persona, and the Dreamweaver'll be weak without the dreamer's Persona to boss around. What say you?" she asks you.

"I wouldn't have left even if you told me to. I can handle it," you say. Your only goal since you entered this place – the Cloud – has been to find Mariko and get her out of here, and the more you've heard from this girl and the annoyed, disembodied voice, the more you're beginning to believe that she's been captured by this Dreamweaver. You and Launcelot have taken out three monsters already – one more isn't about to force you to back down.

"I like the bravado, but don't get a big head. Dreamweavers are tricky little cretins, even without their Enforcers. It'll say anything to try and catch you off guard - no matter what, _don't believe a word it says_. Just trust yourself to do what's right, and you should be okay. And remember, I'm _letting _you handle this yourself. Don't make me have to come back and clean up after you."

"I said I can handle it," you grumble, trying your best to appear as confident as you can so that she doesn't have a change of heart. This aloof attitude of hers is starting to piss you off - as if she didn't just see that you were perfectly capable of handling yourself.

"All right then, in that case, I'm off. Maybe we'll meet again," she says, and blows you a kiss before grabbing the handles of the other boy's wheelchair and pushing him down the street behind you.

"Frankly, I'd rather you didn't," says the voice. "If you know what's good for you, you'll forget all this business the moment you make it out of there. Well, _if_ you make it out of there. I don't care if you're a Persona user or not - if you don't know what you're doing, you're going to get murdered by a Shadow one way or another. It's nothing personal, just do us both a favor and stay away."

"You sure know how to give one hell of a pep talk," you say, but no one responds. It seems that the voice has followed suit and vacated the premises, leaving only your own thoughts for company.

Turning back towards the complex looming large in the center of the village, you can't help but feel that your situation has only become more enigmatic and uncertain after your encounter with that girl and the voice. Somehow, they know an awful lot about this place and how it works, leaving you to only ponder why. It was simpler when it was just you trying to escape from monsters so you could find Mariko. Now, the idea that there's actually some kind of structure to this madness fills you with anxiety...and the slightest hint of exhilaration.

You give your head a shake to clear those thoughts from your head. There'll be time to mull over the questions still bouncing around inside your mind once you've defeated the Dreamweaver and found Mariko. Summoning up whatever resolve you can muster, you begin your trek towards the nucleus of the Cloud, and to face whatever lies in wait.


	7. Sun: Dreamweaver Mariko

Admittedly, this was not quite what you were expecting to find when you finally reached the center, but at this point, you figure that you shouldn't really be surprised by much of anything. Instead of a solemn cathedral or temple like you were expecting, it's just a regular old department store, neon letters flickering idly across the front and speakers on the rooftop blaring a cheerful tune that your ears picked up from about a hundred meters away. When it's coming over the television set at home or over the din of a crowd of people, it's not so bad. Annoying, at worst. But here in the emptiness of the Cloud, with nothing but Shadows around to hear it, its presence is just eerie and unsettling. It gives the entire store a sense of being recently and urgently vacated.

You recall what the voice said about the Cloud being the dreamer's "perfect world". A world with nobody in it, where all the houses are the same and a department store jingle is the only sound to be heard for miles – is this really what she wants? It seems bleak for a girl like her, but then again, you've barely known her for an entire day. You take a deep breath to clear your mind, and step inside.

The doors slide closed automatically behind you as you enter the lobby, a small space tiled in a checkerboard pattern with a couple shopping carts hastily pushed up against the wall. To your right, there's a door to the stairs, and to your left, a couple elevators. Pushing the call button doesn't seem to be working – neither of the elevators' doors open. Stairs it is.

Each of the floors turns out to be just as deserted as the rest of the Cloud – you don't even find a single Shadow as you comb each one for Mariko. One floor is a grocery, although all the bins and shelves are stocked with food that's long since rotted. Another features clothing and shoes, and as you pass by each mannequin, you instinctively grip the neck of your guitar in anticipation of attack. Eventually, you make your way to the electronics department, which is relatively benign, save for the fact that every single television screen looks to have been smashed in. The rest of the floor's inventory, however, is untouched. The scene reminds you of the Enforcer, and you quicken your pace towards the next flight of stairs. But before you even make it halfway across the floor, the PA crackles to life, and a familiar voice begins to speak:

_"Welcome valued customer! We thank you for choosing us, but at the moment we are currently closed. Please vacate the premises immediately, and have a great day!"_

A short version of the jingle you heard outside follows the announcement, and then the PA goes dead. That was definitely Mariko's voice that you just heard, but there was something about it that didn't quite sound right. It reminds you of a 3D picture viewed without 3D glasses – easy enough identify, but hazy and out-of-focus around the edges. That and the nature of the announcement seems out of character for her. Remembering what the girl in the wetsuit told you, you figure the Dreamweaver must have something to do with it. At any rate, at least that tells you that you're going in the right direction. Ignoring the warning, you sprint across the floor towards the next flight of stairs, dodging piles of broken glass strewn across the floor.

The PA comes back on the moment you set foot into the kitchen goods department on the next floor. Mariko's voice sounds decidedly more agitated, and whatever cheerfulness remains sounds forced.

_"Attention, uninvited guest! We do our best to provide you with service and a smile during our regular hours of operation, but we _cannot_ extend the same courtesy to trespassers! Vacate the premises _now _or we will be forced to remove you."_

When the PA goes dead again, you become acutely aware of the security cameras on the ceiling tracking you as you make your way around displays of knife sets and hi-tech blenders. Their whirring is unnaturally loud in the silence. You take two steps forward. The cameras follow you and stop when you do. You take two steps backwards. They move back to where they were before. An idea pops into your head.

You turn, stare directly into the lens of one of the cameras, and start to dance crazy! To your amusement, the cameras follow each and every one of your moves until you finally stop, out of breath. It feels a little dumb and silly, but at least it's helped you relax. The Dreamweaver is clearly trying to freak you out, and you're not going to let it while Mariko's still in danger.

The door to the next flight of stairs you find turns out to be locked, but after a few well-placed kicks, you manage to bust it open. The crash the door makes as it collides with the wall echoes throughout the stairwell, and you instinctively tense up. However, after a minute passes, nothing has happened - yet - so you decide to carefully press onwards.

When you emerge, it's into a long hallway illuminated only by softly dying fluorescent lights overhead. Doors with brass nameplates line either side of it. They must be offices for the management – or at least that's your best guess. On one of them you can make out a couple characters – a "na" and "ra" – but the others are completely blank. As you carefully creep down the corridor, your mind begins to play tricks on you. You hear sounds, incredibly faint sounds that you couldn't possibly be hearing – a distant horn, the _whoop_ of sirens, a child weeping.

Then, you begin to feel a pressure on your throat, soft at first, as if someone was taking your pulse, but growing tighter and tighter the closer you get to the end of the hall. You drop to your knees, clawing at invisible hands clamped tight around your windpipe. Your diaphragm contracts frantically, seeking even the smallest gasp of air. And it might be that lack of oxygen reaching your brain, but you swear you can also feel someone's hot, ragged breath at the nape of your neck. And just when the edges of your vision become tinted black, spreading like film burn, the grip vanishes. The sudden rush of air into your lungs and bloodstream sends the world spinning, and it takes some time before you stop spluttering and coughing enough to stand upright again. You start to wonder if this is the Dreamweaver's way of punishing you for your little performance earlier, but your thoughts are quickly interrupted by another message from the PA system.

_"What's the angle, trespasser? What do you think you're trying to do? There's no one here that needs saving, no one that needs your help. I'm finally strong enough to solve all my problems all by myself, so turn around. If you're looking for a damsel to save, the only thing you're going to find is despair. Consider this your warning."_

With that, the PA clicks off, and there's a low _shoom_ as the power shuts down throughout the entire store. Total darkness envelops you, broken only by a small sliver of light streaming in from a crack in the doorway at the end of the hall. It should lead to the rooftop food court, the only place you haven't checked yet.

Mariko's last message still echoes in your head. You don't buy into what she's saying, at least the part about her not needing any help. You've experienced how hostile the Cloud is firsthand – it's no place for _any_ human being; not you, not her, not even someone truly tough like Shibutani. Hell, without your Persona, you'd have been eaten a long time ago. You know Mariko doesn't like relying on other people – that's probably why she's saying the things she is – but she's obviously gotten herself in over her head. If she's got a problem with it, she can take it up with you later. You're her guide, goddammit! And more importantly, you're her friend. It's time to get her the hell out of here.

You push open the door to the roof slowly so as to avoid making any noise that might alert the Dreamweaver (which you're sure must be close by), but unfortunately, you can't prevent it from making an ear-screeching squeal as it swings outwards. Subtlety all but destroyed, you rip your guitar out of its case and dart into the midst of the food court, pivoting about in all directions so you're not caught unawares. However, there appears to be nothing and no one up here to attack you.

Then you see her.

Suspended in midair several meters off the ground, Mariko appears to be trapped in some sort of invisible coffin, its outline traced in gently pulsating strings of some wispy, blackish-blue substance. The way her body is positioned adds to the impression, stiff like a board with her arms crossed over her chest and eyes closed.

"_Mariko!_" you shout, but she doesn't respond. You run under her and jump as high as you can to see if you can't grab on to one of her shoes and pull her down, but she's just out of your reach. "Dammit…_Mariko! C'mon, wake up!_" you yell again, but you still can't elicit a response.

"_Mariko! Mariko! Mariko!_" a voice from across the food court calls out mockingly. "Jeez, you really are some kind of stupid, aren't you?"

"What the…?"

There was nobody there before, you're sure of it. But now, a near-perfect doppelganger of Mariko leers at you from beneath her hovering, prone form. It's strange: although they look so alike, at the same time it'd be impossible to get them confused. Aside from the differences in wardrobe (this new Mariko looks like a salaryman come home from a day at work – dark slacks, grey shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and a red tie), something in her demeanor is violently at odds with the person you know. There's a cold, aloof edge to her stance, a sensation that's only enhanced by a pair of bright, golden eyes.

"I was trying to be nice. I was trying to take the high road. You heard me, right? You shouldn't be here. You don't _need_ to be here. But you've awakened to your Persona, and now you figure it's your chance to play the hero, huh?"

You snort, not fooled in the least. The way this thing's acting, it must be the Dreamweaver. "If you think that I'm not gonna beat your face in just because you _look_ like a person, you're in for a rude awakening. I know all about you," you say. Hopefully it doesn't call your bluff.

It laughs, high and scathing, causing you to wince involuntarily. "Oh you_ do_, do you? What a typical human!" The other Mariko begins striding towards you, its steps slow and deliberate.

"You don't know a thing about me. You think I just _look_ like her – soon enough, I'll _be_ her, too."

Her words snap something in your brain, and you rush her down, ready to drive your guitar into the imposter's smug little skull. You swing downwards with all your might – but your guitar never reaches her. With lightning speed, her arm shoots out and clamps around your wrist with a crushing grip, preventing you from delivering the blow. You push against her even harder, but she doesn't even budge an inch.

"This…this has gotta be a joke," you say.

"I know _I_ think it's funny," she says, and drives her foot right into your stomach. The force of the kick immediately drives all the air out of your lungs and sends you flying backwards across the food court, toppling over numerous tables and chairs. Flipping yourself over onto your hands and knees with a low groan, you clutch at your stomach to keep yourself from puking. This _can't_ be how strong a Dreamweaver is. Didn't the wetsuit girl say it should be _weaker_ without its Enforcer?

It doesn't look like the Dreamweaver is finished yet. She reaches around behind her back, and from her waist, she removes a sleek, heavy-looking black handgun. Your eyes widen in shock, and the Dreamweaver must notice, because she starts cackling again.

"You like it?" She levels the weapon at you briefly, then flings it aside, laughing even harder. "Don't worry, I don't plan on using it – human weapons are so clumsy and boring. Perfect for humans, but a Shadow has no use for them. Where'd I get it, then? Why not ask her?" she says, pointing to Mariko. "She had it on her the entire time, holstered in her jacket like some kinda cop! Who would have guessed, a sweet girl like her? Not you!" The corners of her mouth turn up into a cruel grin. "After all, when it comes to poor little Mariko, no one knows her better than me."

"The hell you do," you snarl, but the Dreamweaver rolls her eyes.

"What? Does that bother you? I'm not doing anything but telling the truth." She turns back to look at Mariko. "She's shared _everything_ with me: every struggle, every tragedy, every single little thing she hates about herself. She's lived a pretty miserable life, you know. But what else can you expect? She's only human!" The Dreamweaver begins laughing at her own joke again. You're tempted to try and catch her off guard while she's having her moment, but you're not terribly confident about that right now.

"Deep down, you're all like that. Neurotic creatures with a hundred dreams, a thousand little fantasies, and a million flaws that keep you from realizing any of them. That's why she came to me."

"I…I don't understand."

"Of course you don't, _human_. You don't think I just forced my way into her dream, did you? No, I'm here because I was _invited_. I'm here to make them _come true._"

It's an innocent enough phrase, but the way she says it sends shivers down your spine.

"What are you doing to her?"

The Dreamweaver puts her hands up in a disarming gesture. "So accusing. I'm just giving her what she wants. You know, it doesn't make sense. Why are humans the ones that get to live in the real world when they're just so _bad_ at it? When you're human, all you can be is just…_you_. If you're doomed to an ugly life, there's not a thing you can do about it. We Shadows are different. We can be everything humans aren't – clever, strong, charismatic, beautiful.

"You've seen her dream world. It's a nice, perfect little town with nobody around to shelter or coddle or protect her. She's only got what she needs to survive, and that's it." The Dreamweaver then sneers, an expression that drips with contempt. "But even still, she can't let go of others - there's still all sorts of reminders of the people she's tried so hard to leave behind. How sad is that, to not even be able to commit to your own dream? This kind of crap is exactly why humans don't deserve to exist."

"That's bullshit. Since when do _you_ get to decide who should exist and who shouldn't?"

The Dreamweaver's face screws up with disgust. "Why _shouldn't_ I? Humanity's had its chance, but you've screwed it up every single time! The verdict is clear –your time here is just about up."She jerks her head towards Mariko's body.

"_I'm grown-up! I can take care of myself! I wish everyone else would leave me alone! Let me do what I want!_ Isn't that _hilarious_? She wants to make her own decisions, yet she runs away from home to go live with another adult! She wants to take care of herself, but she hangs onto you like a little lost puppy! _Let me do what I want!_ But live my life for me! How hopeless! How pathetic! How utterly and completely human! She doesn't have a clue. Once I take her place, I'll be doing her one hell of a favor!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" you ask, and the Shadow rolls her eyes.

"You sure ask a lot of obvious questions. Pity you didn't ask to be put out of your misery, too, you could stand to be a lot smarter. What I mean is that I'm replacing her. As a Shadow, I'm much more suited to take charge of her sorry situation than she is. What's the point of becoming a gun-toting vagabond if you're not even going to do it right?"

"You can't do this to her! You're right – I have no clue what she told you or what you know about her. But there's no way this is what she wanted! There's no way that any sane person wants this!"

You're not doing a very good job of masking your emotions, because she starts giggling snidely at you. "Oh, _wow_! What are you getting so angry for? If you hadn't been snooping around here, you'd never even know! Besides, it's not like she really gets the short straw. Everything that I do, say, and feel, her consciousness will experience. It's like she's having a fantastic dream that she never has to wake up from. Now ask yourself this: would it _really_ be fair to take that away from her? We've already established that you don't know anything about her, so why do you think that _you_ get to decide what's right and wrong? Isn't that exactly the kind of thing she would absolutely _hate_?"

"Oh, so you're just taking her to a better place, is that it? Pretty sure that's the exact same logic kidnappers and serial killers use."

Her eyes narrow, and she heaves a frustrated sigh. You're hoping that it's just your imagination, but the whites of her eyes appear to darken, and bluish-black smoke begins to roil around her form like steam from a boiling tea kettle. And when she speaks, it's as if her voice takes on several different pitches at once.

"_I should have known that trying to reason with a human was going to be an exercise in futility. Your self-righteous attitude makes me wanna puke. A world of dream trumps reality in every way possible! She won't even know it's not real! Better for her, better for me! A real win-win!_"

Your hand reaches for your guitar once more. It doesn't matter how easily she countered you last time, you're running out patience.

"Yeah, see, this right here? This is the kinda thing that makes it hard for me to take you seriously. I can't imagine anyone in real life who'd prefer you over the real thing. I'm not playing this game with you anymore. As far as I'm concerned, you're just another Shadow. I'm here to bring Mariko home; if I need to smash your face in to do it, then that's fine with me."

"_Your ignorance is really starting to piss me off now! This is the way things were always meant to be! Shadow over human! Mind over matter! Fantasy over reality! I've waited too long for an opportunity like this, and I'll be damned if I let some pigheaded white knight like you get in my way!"_

The Dreamweaver doubles over and clutches at the right side of her face. From under her palm, the smoke begins to stream forth in long, ropy tendrils of dark miasma. Then, she slowly drags it down, revealing half of a sunburst mask underneath with one golden eye leering murderously from under it.

_"I think it's time you learned your place!"_


	8. Excalibur

The Dreamweaver raises one arm, and you brace yourself for an attack, but nothing happens. Suddenly, something strikes you in the back of the head, causing bursts of color and stars to swarm your vision. Through the haze, you see Mariko's gun zip into her palm as if by magic. The Dreamweaver laughs and flicks off the safety.

_"You know what? I think I've had a bit of a change of heart. Killing you with a human weapon seems kinda fitting. The irony's just too delicious to pass up! I know you like to dance, so let's see it!"_

The Dreamweaver takes aim at you, and your body locks up instantly. Action movies and anime make it look like no big deal to dodge a bullet, but now that you're actually staring down the barrel of a real gun held by a creature that wants to kill you, you have no clue what to do. How good is the Dreamweaver's aim? It said it doesn't like human weapons. Does that mean it's a bad shot? But the gun belongs to Mariko – she probably knows how to use it. If the Dreamweaver's taken on her body, does that mean it's just as good as she is? In the end, there's no way to be sure.

The Dreamweaver's finger begins to close around the trigger, so you close your eyes and dive towards one of the toppled tables nearby. A crack resounds across the food court, and you cringe involuntarily as you tumble into cover. For a while, you don't dare open your eyes for fear of seeing your own blood soaking your shirt and jacket. But you know that the Dreamweaver will come to check on you whether you've been hit or not, so you slowly open your eyes to search your body.

To your immense relief, there isn't a single bullet wound on you, and the only pain you feel is from your shoulder where you hit the ground. You heave a sigh of relief, but the sound of the Dreamweaver's footsteps drawing near snaps you back to reality. Somehow, you need to figure out a way to get close enough to attack this thing without getting shot. If you can summon Launcelot, maybe you can advance on her behind his shield.

"_Per-_" you begin, but just then, the Dreamweaver steps around the table, a deranged grin plastered across her face.

_"I don't think so, asshole!_"

With one swift motion, the Dreamweaver smashes the butt of the handgun across your face, sending you reeling backwards and your head snaps into ground. Throbbing pain lances through your skull, and a hot, irony wetness begins to pool on your upper lip. Through your blurred vision, you look on helplessly, unable to pick yourself up off the ground to flee, as the Dreamweaver approaches. She studies you and cocks her head as if the situation puzzles her. Then, she reaches down, grabs you by the collar, and hoists you up to eye level. You note that this only requires one hand, a testament to her seemingly absurd strength.

_"This is it? How did you even manage to kill_ one_ of my Shadows? Even with the power of Persona, you humans are pitifully, contemptibly weak."_

Using both hands now, she clutches both sides of your head, holding you aloft. She squeezes it firmly between them like a vice, and new waves of pain crash upon you. You can't prevent yourself from groaning in agony.

_"I could crush your skull like a grape right now, you know that, right? Just a little pressure, that's all it would take."_

She holds you there like that for a moment, contemplative. Then, she lets go, letting you drop to the ground.

"_No, no. Too easy. For someone who talks themselves up so much while being so weak, you need to really learn just how pathetic you are compared to a Shadow. Up," _she commands, gesturing you to your feet with the hand that holds the gun. Your head is still swimming in pain, and you can barely think clearly enough to comprehend what she's saying, let alone formulate some method of counterattack. Sluggishly, you stumble upright, swaying back and forth as you search for some semblance of balance.

_"Good,_" the Dreamweaver says, and fires a bolt of lightning directly into your chest.

Even though you've already been shocked once today, this time around, the sensation of electricity coursing through your body is positively excruciating. The force of the Dreamweaver's magic is exponentially greater than that of the Enforcer's, making it impossible to resist the pain. The jolt rips a piercing scream from your lips and you collapse to the ground, convulsing violently as the lightning runs its course. It feels as though it takes forever for the pain to finally dissipate, but eventually the agony subsides, leaving behind a crackle of static in the air and a stream of tears coursing down your cheeks.

The Dreamweaver steps up to you and jabs you in the ribs with one foot. An involuntary whimper escapes from the depths of your lungs, and she laughs long and hard.

"_C'mon, human! I'm '_just another Shadow_', right? Why aren't you smashing my face in already, huh? C'mon! Get on your feet and play the big damn hero! Don't tell me this is as good as it gets!"_

Once more, the Dreamweaver grabs you and hauls you upright. Standing feels like an exercise in futility – the world is having a hell of a time staying still.

_"I'll tell you what: I'll even let you summon your precious Persona. Go on, call it out! I want to kill you at your best so that you truly understand just how futile your delusions of heroism are!"_

This has to be a trap. She'll probably shoot you before you can even finish summoning. A surge of anger rushes through you – at the girl in the wetsuit for leaving this impossible task to you, at the Dreamweaver for making a fool out of you, and especially at yourself for being pushed around like this. This can't be how it ends, not after the way you escaped death once already today. You made a resolution not to die, to ensure that Mariko got home safely. There's no way you're going to just let yourself get beaten and shocked to death. If the Dreamweaver's going to make the mistake of giving you a chance, you're going to take it.

A brief moment of clarity cuts through the fog of pain, and you reach down inside yourself to salvage whatever amount of strength you still have left. So far, the Dreamweaver's been able to predict your every move. If that's the case, then maybe it's time to try something stupid.

"Alright…" you say.

"_What?" _calls the Dreamweaver. _"If you have something to say, say it!"_

"Think fast!"

With one motion, you spring towards the Dreamweaver, yank your guitar from its case, and drive it up towards her chin with as much power as you can possibly muster. To your satisfaction, it connects with a near bone-shattering impact that sends vibrations through your entire body, and the Dreamweaver soars backwards through the counter of a food stand and into the kitchen behind it.

For a few seconds, you're in total shock, your guitar still clutched in a white-knuckled grip at the apex of its swing. The rush of adrenaline is short-lived, though, and once it's over, you collapse and fall backwards onto your rear end. However, there's no time to relax. You know that there's no way that you killed the Dreamweaver in just one blow, and you finally have enough time to summon Launcelot. Even if your strength is almost exhausted, Launcelot should still be ready to fight.

"_Launcelot!_" you cry, and your Persona materializes before you in a flash of light.

Immediately, you realize something's not right. Instead of standing proudly, lance and shield held ready in front of him like he normally is, Launcelot is hunched over and heaving, clutching his stomach. His cape appears tattered and ragged, and his once pristine armor sports multiple dings and dents.

_"You son of a bitch!_" the Dreamweaver shrieks from within the food stand, reporting her imminent return to action, and at the same time, a horrible realization dawns on you.

"…_that Persona isn't just a part of you, he _is_ you…Whatever happens to him, happens to you, and vice versa."_

In the heat of the fight, you'd completely forgotten about the wetsuit girl's warning. With the shape you're in now, Launcelot is every bit as useless as you are. In essence, all you've done is piss off the Dreamweaver and exhaust the last bit of your strength.

The Dreamweaver is a grotesque sight as she emerges from the food stand. Her head is almost completely twisted around to the point where it's practically facing behind her. With a sickening _pop_, she grabs it and twists it back into position, jerking it back and forth the way a boxer would work out kinks in his neck.

_"Enough screwing around! I'll kill you here and now! Prepare to witness the true power of the Cloud!"_

The Dreamweaver points one finger skyward and screams.

_"Persona!"_

Terror seizes your entire body at the word. There's no way that a Shadow could have its own Persona. If that's true, then you're certainly about to die.

But nothing happens. For almost thirty seconds, the Dreamweaver stands there, finger raised while absolutely nothing occurs, and the atmosphere slowly begins to transition from dire to comical. Finally, the Dreamweaver grows impatient and stomps one foot into the ground.

_"What the hell? Persona! Persona! I summon my Persona! Come on, damn you!"_

As the Dreamweaver screeches angrily into the sky, a smile begins to play across your face. The Persona that she's trying to summon was none other than the Enforcer that you and the wetsuit girl subdued earlier. Of course, there's a sense of avoided disaster underneath the humor here – you now understand just what the wetsuit girl meant when she said that the Dreamweaver was much weaker without Mariko's Persona. If you hadn't taken it out, there's no telling what kind of shape you'd be in now – broken, most likely.

You allow yourself a laugh at the Dreamweaver's expense. Sure, you're just going to make it angrier, but at this point, there's nothing else you can do. You and Launcelot are probably going to be killed no matter what, so you may as well go out by causing her some aggravation one last time. Sure enough, the Dreamweaver rounds on you and lifts you up by the shirt collar again.

"_You! Where is my Persona?"_ it screams into your face. You shrug, but flash her a grin that should tell her all she needs to know.

"_No! Impossible! There's no way a human like you could have beaten my Persona! Where are they? Where are the others? How many of you filthy rats are there? Tellmetellmetellme!"_

The Dreamweaver shakes your battered body back and forth like a ragdoll, but you keep your mouth shut. There's nothing left to say. Once she realizes that she's not getting anything more out of you, the Dreamweaver tosses you to the ground.

"_Fine. It doesn't matter whether there's one of you or a hundred of you. I'll wipe out every last one I see, Persona or no! But first, it's about time we wrap this up. Hope you've made your peace with your pathetic existence, human,_" she says, and raises the gun towards you once again.

Peace? What peace is there to make? In the end, you've failed completely. Failed to save Mariko, failed to realize the potential Minato and Elizabeth said that you have, and failed to keep your own promise to continue living. You've given it everything that you had, yet it simply wasn't enough to stand up to the Dreamweaver's punishing strength. And so, you will die here in this strange world, likely never be discovered, never to see your parents or classmates or even your shitty, awful teacher again. The thought of all this makes you awash with despair.

You close your eyes, lean your head back against the underside of a chair, and await the inevitable.

"_No_," says a voice that is neither yours nor the Dreamweaver's. "_This simply will not do._"

"_You cannot fail here._"

Everything goes black.

* * *

><p>The Dreamweaver pulls the trigger. The bullet is true. It soars towards Tetsuo's head and evaporates before making contact with his temple like a droplet of water hitting a hot stove.<p>

"_What the…_" the Dreamweaver says, her gaze flicking back and forth between the gun and his prone form as if expecting some sort of explanation. She takes aim once more and this time looses off two shots. Both suffer the same fate as the first. This incongruity pushes her over the edge and out of composure's reach. With a wild scream, she empties the magazine into Tetsuo. Again, those shots that don't completely miss their mark disappear before they touch his skin.

Then, even as he is being fired upon, he begins to rise. His movement is ungainly and stilted as he lurches to his feet, stumbling back and forth like a new sailor struggling to find his sea legs. He moans softly, and his hands shoot to the sides of his head, clutching at it with desperate, probing fingers. His eyes, wide in their sockets, rattle about wildly with some unknown dementia. Inside his mind, a cacophony of jet engines sound in mind-shredding harmony to a melody of tuneless chanting.

_I AM THOU._

_THOU ART I._

_I AM THOU._

_THOU ART I._

_IAMTHOUARTIAMTHOUARTIAMTHOUARTIAMTHOUARTIAMTHOUARTIAMTHOUARTIAMTHOU-_

"_AAAGGGHHH!"_

The force of Tetsuo's scream rips the world out from under the Dreamweaver's feet, sending her tumbling across the ground cursing. The food court erupts into an explosion of light and sound. Everything not bolted to the floor soars off of the rooftop from the resulting shockwave save for the Dreamweaver, who clutches desperately to a railing to avoid being carried away. At the epicenter of the swirling miasma, Tetsuo's silhouette is taken to pieces, bit by bit, until nothing more remains of him. Then, with one final puff of dust and wind, the burst of light seems to fold up on itself into a single spear of light that launches heavenward, leaving only Mariko, the Dreamweaver, and the motionless, floating form of Launcelot behind.

Cautiously, the Dreamweaver opens one eye. When she notices that the outburst is over, she scrambles to her feet and sprints over to the spot where Tetsuo once stood.

"_Where are you? Come out and face me, human! You think you can prolong your death with cheap tricks like that?_" she yells while peering into empty food stands. Behind her, Launcelot's fingers twitch.

"_If you think you can hide from me, you're making a huge mistake! This Cloud belongs to me! There's nothing I don't see! I _will_ find you, and when I do, I promise that I'll make your death as slow and painful as I possibly c-"_

The rest of her livid outburst is cut short as a huge mailed hand clamps around her head and mashes it into the wall of the food stand. The impact leaves a small depression in the concrete wall from which spidery cracks race outwards in all directions. The hand still clutching her by the head, the Dreamweaver is lifted into the air and brought face-to-face with her assailant.

"_A-Ahhh…"_ she gurgles, an inarticulate mixture of pain and fear at what she sees behind Launcelot's visor.

_"You're not…gahhh!"_

However, she is once more cut short as Launcelot forcibly drives her face back into the wall. Unsatisfied, Launcelot peels the Dreamweaver's body off the wall, only to slam her back into it once – twice – three more times. Puffs of smoke leak from her body with each blow, and the outline of her figure begins to waver hazily like a mirage. Finally, Launcelot cocks back his arm to its fullest extent and bludgeons the Dreamweaver into the miniature crater he's created with punishing force. Trapped between the wall and his hand, Launcelot applies pressure to the back of her head, and the Dreamweaver's limbs begin to thrash madly about in a desperate bid for escape.

Then, with one final push, Launcelot crushes the Dreamweaver's body against the wall. Her wriggling body ruptures like a paint-filled balloon, leaving a blackish-blue splatter where she once was. He slowly removes his hand from the wall, and the half-sunburst mask clatters to the floor, the only thing that still remains of the vicious Shadow.

Launcelot steps back and releases a victorious scream into the cloud-dotted sky. There is another flash of light, and when it dissipates, he has vanished.

* * *

><p>Consciousness returns to you slowly and with much difficulty, much like awakening after a night of uneasy sleep. There's a pounding in your head, but other than that, you think you're okay. Last thing you remember, the Dreamweaver was about to put a bullet in your head, but seeing as you're still alive, something must have gone wrong.<p>

You give your body a quick once over. Incredibly, all your bruises and cuts are completely gone, and your nose and ribs aren't sore at all! If it wasn't for the fact that you were still on the rooftop of this awful department store, it'd be easy to believe that you'd never even fought the Dreamweaver at all.

Rising unsteadily to your feet, you take stock of your surroundings. It looks like a tornado's been through here – all the tables and chairs are gone, the awnings are torn and collapsed, and the railings around the edge of the roof are twisted and bent. The only things still remaining are the food stands, spared only because they were part of the structure. A stain on the wall of one of them catches your attention, and you go over to investigate.

This stand has clearly suffered heavy damage - this entire portion of the wall is riddled with cracks and chips. The stain is even more curious, a Rorschach-like blob almost as large as you are tall. Before you can even make an attempt at guessing what happened here, your foot brushes up against something on the ground.

At first glance, you can hardly believe that the object at your feet is what it appears to be, but once you pick it up and bring it up close, it indeed turns out to be the same half-sunburst mask that the Dreamweaver was wearing.

_"Wake up."_

A myriad of violent images cascade before your eyes, and at all once you begin to remember what happened. The hissing voice inside your head and the sudden realization of what you've done makes you drop the mask and take a step backwards. There's absolutely no way those visions could have been real. You were completely hapless against the Dreamweaver and on death's door before you passed out. But yet here you are, in better shape than you were before you entered the Cloud, and the Dreamweaver is, well...nowhere to be found.

Trying to avert your gaze from the mess on the wall, you notice something else lying on the ground a short distance away. Upon further inspection, it turns out to be Mariko's handgun. It's heavier than you expected it to be as you turn it over in your hands, and its grip seems strangely cold. Holding the weapon that almost killed you makes you uncomfortable, so you tuck it into your jacket for the time being so that you can return it to Mariko later.

Come to think of it, you haven't seen Mariko since you woke up. Casting a more scrutinizing gaze across the food court, you spy a small figure on the ground near one of the shredded awnings.

"Mariko!"

You dash over to her body and gently turn her onto her back. To your relief, she's unharmed and still breathing, her chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm.

"Mariko, can you hear me? You gotta wake up!"

You give her shoulders a brief shake, and a small groan escapes her lips. Her hand rises to rub her eyelids open and she yawns loudly.

"Tetsuo-kun? What's going on?"

Suddenly, thin, white lines form across the sky, seeming to split the world into giant segments. Then, one by one, each segment falls away to reveal bits and pieces of the city you know behind them. When the last one vanishes, you and Mariko are left sitting in the middle of the parking lot outside of a church. In the distance off to your left, the last rays of the setting sun sparkle off the surface of the river, its banks straddled by the bridge.

The Cloud is gone.

"Do you remember anything?" you ask, hoping that she might be able to tell you something, anything, about how or why she came to the Cloud. She shakes her head.

"Nnh...no...maybe...I don't know. Sorry, Tetsuo-kun, but my head seriously hurts right now." With some effort, she pulls herself into a sitting position. You immediately move your hand to steady to her, but she catches your arm and pushes it away. "It's all right, I'm okay. I know there's a lot you probably want to talk about, but right now, I'd really just like to go home. Everything seems like it's just one huge, confusing blur...like trying to hold onto a dream after you wake up."

"That's fine," you say. "Tomorrow, then. Let's go."

"That sounds great. Thanks," she says with a weak smile. You help her up, and with one arm around your shoulders, the two of you finally head towards home.


	9. REM

You and Mariko make it back to your neighborhood without incident, and when her aunt answers the door, she lets out a relieved gasp and clutches her niece tightly. Mariko grimaces, but doesn't protest. Assuming that the things the Dreamweaver said were true, she's probably feeling somewhat bittersweet about how things turned out. All she wanted was to avoid causing others distress, and now everyone's hanging all over her. "Sorry," you say, but Mariko's expression softens and she shakes her head. _It's fine_, she mouths.

Her aunt, thinking you were talking to her, steps forward. "You don't have to apologize for anything, Tetsuo. I can't tell you how grateful I am that you were able to find her and that everything turned out all right." You and Mariko exchange a glance. "All right" is an extremely liberal summary of what the two of you just went through, but there's no way she'd know that. Her gaze returns to Mariko.

"Come on inside, get something to eat, and go to bed. I'm going to go ahead and let your father know what happened."

Mariko's eyes suddenly go wide and she cries, "No!" Her aunt shakes her head and purses her lips.

"Sorry, but you know the deal. If anything happens to you, he wants to know. That was part of the agreement for letting you stay in the first place." She places her hands on her hips, taking that familiar "displeased adult" stance. "You know, you're awfully lucky that he didn't make me put you on the first bus home the instant you showed up at the door. He would have been justified in doing so, if you ask me. He had no idea where you'd gone, and I had no idea you were coming."

Mariko's eyes fall to her shoes, and she mumbles something that sounds like an apology. You feel bad for her. If her aunt had any clue what she'd just been through, she wouldn't be giving her an earful right now. You decide to speak up.

"Hey, listen...it's not really her fault. I asked her to meet me for ramen in the city after school and forgot to give her the address for the place. If her phone hadn't died, this whole thing wouldn't have happened. It was just one of those weird accidents, and everything turned out okay in the end, right?" you say, talking to her aunt but looking at Mariko. Fortunately, she picks up on what you're doing and pipes up.

"You know I would have called to let you know I'd be home a little later if I could have. I was actually trying to find a pay phone to use when I ran into Tetsuo-kun, but, you know, how many pay phones are there nowadays? Anyhow, I wasn't hurt, and it'll never happen again, so do you _really_ need to bother Dad?"

You're impressed. For such a sweet girl, she lies really easily. Of course, there's no way she could have told the truth, either (if she remembers any of it). In this case, reality is stranger than fiction.

Mariko's aunt casts a somewhat skeptical glance between you two.

"So that's what happened, huh?" The both of you nod and she sighs deeply. "All right, then. I suppose I may have overreacted a bit. If nobody got hurt, then that's what matters." She cracks a wan smile. "Besides, no sense in stressing him out if there's nothing to stress out about. He does a good enough job of that himself. Now come on inside. If you're really fine, then you still have school tomorrow. Chop chop," she says, and lifts her arm off of the doorframe to let Mariko inside. Mariko pauses and turns back to you with a grateful smile before disappearing around a corner and out of sight.

Once she's gone, her aunt drops her smile and pinches her temple between her index finger and thumb. Letting her cheeks puff out, she exhales long and loud, letting herself collapse against the doorframe. From the back pocket of her jeans she withdraws a carton of cigarettes, and with the other hand, she conjures a small, plastic lighter seemingly out of nowhere. With the practiced air of someone who's been through this routine a number of times, she flicks the underside of the cardboard until one pops out, ignites the lighter on her first try, and holds it up to the cigarette until it smolders a bright orange. Bringing it to her lips, she takes a deep drag, craning her neck upwards to blow the smoke away from your face. The acrid-smelling wisps rise silently into the deepening twilight, little specters reminiscent of a nightmare that suddenly seems so very distant.

"Sorry, hope you don't mind if I smoke," she says, despite the fact that it's too late for you to say no.

"It's okay," you lie, trying to choke back a cough that's rising in your throat.

"I'm trying to quit, you know. It's just that…life is making it awfully hard to. So when I say that I'm grateful to you for looking out for my niece, I really mean it. I don't want to sound cold-hearted, but we really have enough to worry about without having to deal with another kid…" she trails off and takes another drag of the cigarette. "No warning, no letter, no call even…just out of the blue she shows up and says she wants to stay with us, and I have no idea what to do but invite her in. She's family, what can I do? Then I call _him _up to ask 'What's going on?' and he blows up at me because he thinks she's at school and all the while _no one _wants to tell me what's going on…" Another puff of the cigarette, a small glowing beacon in the advancing darkness. Her aunt sighs and shakes her head.

"She's hard-headed, just like my brother, but neither of 'em will admit it. She's fortunate she caught us while we were home for a while, so it's not _that_ much of an inconvenience. I _do_ owe him a favor, so we'll put her up until one of them apologizes to the other. Until then, I don't suppose you'd mind just keeping an eye on her, would you? I hate to impose, but it at least seems like you're getting along."

You can understand where she's coming from – to some extent, she reminds you a lot of your mother – but that's one request you can't accept.

"No can do," you say, and press on before Mariko's aunt can interject. "I can be her friend, but not her watchdog. She's pretty tough – honestly, I don't think she needs one."

"Is that so?" Her aunt seems caught in between bemusement and irritation. "You guys are just teenagers. Right now you probably think there's nothing in the world you can't handle. Sorry to tell you this, kid, but reality's a little harsher than that." She removes the cigarette from her mouth and extinguishes it on the doorframe, dropping the butt into an ashtray on a small, wooden table just inside the door. "Nevertheless, you may have a point. Perhaps if she has herself a little social life here, it might help her calm down a little. As long she's making good friends, then I suppose that satisfies me."

Straightening back up, she suppresses a yawn with her fist. "Okay, it's about time I turned in for the night. Sorry to make you listen to all that. Your own parents must be wondering where you are, too."

You grimace inwardly as she says that. You haven't checked your phone all evening.

"No, it's…it's fine, really. I probably oughta get home then," you say, suddenly quite eager to turn in yourself.

"Of course. 'Night, kid," she says, and slides the door shut.

Overhead, red and orange and purple have been almost completely washed away the deep blues and black of the night sky. Constellations flicker to life in mirror image of the streetlights below, and your neighborhood is suddenly awash in a warm, yellow glow. A cool breeze whips down the street, causing you to draw your jacket tighter around you. Even though it's getting on in spring, warm nights are still a ways off. In the distance, the low hum of commuter traffic provides a comfortable urban background to the stillness of your neighborhood, a horizon of sound melding both city and suburb together. This time of day is a pleasant, familiar paradox; the ease of solitude amidst a mass of humanity. As you take this moment to savor the sights and sounds of your hometown, it's troubling to think of how this world and Clouds could possibly exist at the same time.

However, those worries evaporate as you approach the door to your house. Even though you know it must have been finished hours ago, you can still smell the enticing aroma of dinner: Dad's twice-fried rice. You let your fingers hesitantly hover over the latch for a moment. Carefully, you stalk across the lawn to take a peek around the house and into the driveway. Mom's still not home. With any luck, Dad might be more worried about her than you.

You return to the door and push on through, kicking off your shoes as you enter and making a beeline for the stairs.

"_Hold it._"

You wince at the severe edge to your Dad's voice and halt in mid-step. Gingerly turning your head towards the kitchen, you see him standing there in the doorway in his favorite "#1 Dad!" apron, arms folded, legs akimbo, expectantly tapping a large, greasy spoon against one shoulder.

"Check your phone," he says, pointing to your pocket. Silently, you withdraw it and swipe it open.

"How many texts are there?"

Five. Actually fewer than you were expecting there to be. Not that you'd say that part out loud.

"Who are they from?"

"You," you reply, deadpan.

"So then what's it take to get a reply from my own son nowadays, eh? I'm not asking you to end world hunger or find a leprechaun or – while we're on the topic of impossible things – get your mother to come home at a reasonable hour, just to let me know when you're gonna be home late. That way, I don't have to be wondering whether you've been mugged, kidnapped, or gotten dinner on your own," he says with the air of someone who truly believes that missing dinner is a bigger problem than being mugged or kidnapped.

"My bad," you say, "I was out with some friends and we just lost track of time. I'll pay more attention or set an alarm or something in the future."

Dad sighs. "I'm not asking for that. You're how old now – twenty?"

"Seventeen."

"Yeah, I know. Wishful thinking. But the point is that I don't care if you wanna go out and have a good time or – nudge, nudge; wink, wink – get a job after dark. When I was your age, I was at a different club every night of the week on the prowl." He curls his fingers into "claws" and bares his teeth in a wholesomely embarrassing gesture. "I tell you what, back then, the party never stopped for ol' Shin Katsuji. After a while, your grandma and grandpa just stopped asking where I was going, because on any given night I could tell them four or five different places and still be telling the truth. Good times. Good times…" he says, nodding thoughtfully.

"Anyhow, one night, I was puttin' on the _moves_ both at the bar _and_ the dance floor, when out of the blue, your uncle busts in with some terrible news. Grandma...well...all I'll say is that if I'd only been there, she'd still be with us now," he says, trailing off and bowing his head.

"Grandma's still alive, you liar."

He winks and clicks his tongue at you. "Just checkin' to see if you're still listening, bud. The point still stands. Moral of the story is: if you don't check your texts, you'll end up responsible for your mother's death. As long as it doesn't happen again, I don't feel like there needs to be any consequences. What do you think?"

"Okay, Dad," you say, slinging your bag over the back of one of the kitchen chairs and collapsing into it, letting your body mold into its shape. All of a sudden, it's as if all the exhaustion from your expedition in the Cloud has caught up with you at once, pulling your limbs and eyelids towards the floor. Today's been one hell of a first day of school. Dad slides a bowl of rice towards you from across the table.

"Been keeping it warm 'till you got back. Try to eat fast, that way when your mother gets back it'll look like you've been here a while."

"Thanks," you mumble in between huge mouthfuls of greasy rice, egg, and pork. The scent is intoxicating. Exhaustion's not the only thing that's caught up with you, it seems.

Then, from in the foyer, you hear the sound of the front door being slammed open, then shut, rattling about in its track. The noise draws the attention of both you and your father, your heads perking up like a couple of meerkats in anticipation.

Your mother emerges from around the corner, one hand clasping both the strap of her purse and the side of her head, while the other rests against the wall to steady herself as she kicks off her shoes. Heels fly across the room in different directions, but she makes no effort to gather them up and put them with yours and your father's. Instead, she lets her jacket drop to the floor and stumbles across the kitchen towards the living room, where she falls wordlessly onto the couch and drags her stockinged feet up onto the coffee table.

You and Dad exchange glances. You're both quite familiar with the protocol for this kind of situation by now. With a quick "Here," you flip on the television to a cable talk show (the vaguely trashy kind), turn the volume down to the point where it's barely audible, and flick off the lamp on the end table next to the couch. Dad moves to the cupboard and withdraws a highball glass and a handle of brandy, kept together for easy access. He plinks two (not one, not three) cubes into the glass and splashes three fingers of the brandy on top of it. Then, with a furtive glance up at Mom, adds another finger for good measure.

"_Looks like that kinda night_," he whispers to you in passing before turning his attention back to her. "Your elixir, Princess," he whispers, brushing his lips across her forehead and placing the glass into her waiting fingers.

"Thanks," she mumbles, and drains half the glass in one swig.

"If you need anything else, I'll be in our room reading." He yawns loudly, stretching his arms towards the ceiling. "'Bout time for me to turn in for the night, methinks. When you're finished, just put your dishes in the sink. I'll take care of them tomorrow morning," he says to you. "Hope you feel better, Princess," he adds. A flash of worry crosses his face, but it's soon replaced by his same old goofy smile, and he mounts the stairs, creaking out of sight.

You turn back to your half-finished bowl of rice. Somehow, your appetite has all but evaporated. In the living room, Mom stares vacantly at the television screen, absent-mindedly swirling the remainder of her drink around and around in its glass. Ever since she took her new job, it feels like you and Dad have been through some variation of this routine every night. She comes home positively exhausted, has a glass of booze, and falls asleep on the couch watching TV. During her first couple of weeks, the two of you would attempt to make small talk - asking her about her day, what her coworkers were like, what cases she was working on - but after a while, she'd always rebut with "Not right now." By now, you both know better than to try, and the small hours of the night between when she comes home and you go to bed often pass without a single word being exchanged.

That's why it catches you off guard when she groggily turns her head towards you and asks, "How was your day?"

"Huh?" You were just about to set your dishes in the sink and head upstairs yourself when you hear her voice.

"I just thought I'd ask how your day went...if you'd rather not say, that's fine."

"No, I, uh...it was all right," you answer. You suppose that in the end, it's not entirely untrue.

"Good. That's good." Mom turns her attention back to the TV and takes another swig of brandy.

You sigh. It was more than you usually get, at least. You give your bowl a good rinse out so that Dad won't have to scrub out any hardened food tomorrow before setting it in the sink and making for the stairs. Before you head up to your room, you hang back on the bottom step and take one last look back into the darkened living room, lit only by the flickering blue light of the television. Somehow, Mom's already fallen asleep in the short amount of time it took you to clean out your dishes. Her light breathing mixes with the muffled yelling of talk show guests.

"'Night," you whisper, and creep upstairs.

You're barely able to get your uniform hung up for tomorrow before you crash onto your futon in your shirt and boxers, staring up at the ceiling from under heavily-lidded eyes. There'll be no more holding off sleep tonight, no more worrying about your mother, and no more musing about Personas or Shadows or Clouds. A heavy, oppressive tiredness is crawling across your entire body, and you're powerless to resist as soft darkness edges into your vision.

* * *

><p>When you next become aware, an all-encompassing darkness has surrounded your being. It's not darkness in the traditional sense, an absence of light that obscures sight. No, this darkness is something more absolute, almost <em>womb-like <em>in its mystery and totality. There is no sense of a world beyond the spot where you stand - it is as if nothing else exists in this space but you, and if you were to venture beyond into that darkness, you would tumble into an endless abyss. The only frame of reference you have is a sliver of light an indeterminate distance away which illuminates the edge of a door and patch of checkerboard tile. Were it not for that, it would be impossible to tell if you were even conscious.

Tentatively, you take one step towards the light into the darkness, and finding solid ground, take another. As you draw nearer to the doorway, muffled voices slowly resolve into slightly agitated conversation. You halt just outside the entrance. One of them you recognize as belonging to Elizabeth, Minato's attendant. The other you do not, a smooth, lyrical gentleman's voice with the slightest hint of an accent.

If Elizabeth is on the other side of this door, then you must be just outside the Velvet Room - which also means that you must be asleep. Within, it sounds as if Elizabeth and the man inside are in the middle of some kind of argument, so you hold off on entering for now and crouch down to the floor, leaning as far towards the opening in the door as you dare.

"...on the precipice between maintaining the status quo and inviting certain catastrophe." The man's voice.

"His power should stabilize once he has grown used to it, I should think," drawls Elizabeth. You can't tell if Minato is with them or not. "Is it truly so unnatural for Wild Cards to have such..._peculiar _reactions to their awakening?"

"I hardly think it appropriate to compare such drastically different circumstances. For better or for worse, you have found yourselves the midst of a highly delicate situation. Any lapses in judgment - or control - could result in extremely dire consequences. When next you meet, I would highly suggest imposing the importance of this upon him."

Are they talking about you? You inch closer, pushing the door open ever so slightly further.

"As you wish."

The man clears his throat. "Excellent! However..." A brief pause interrupts the conversation. "...perhaps I ought to bring it to your attention...this visit was not made by choice. You see..." His voice drops to an inaudible whisper, and you can no longer make out what he is saying. Then, Elizabeth's breath catches softly, a tiny squeak cutting into the stillness.

"Ah!..."

"My apologies. It is not my intent to imply that you require additional coercion, but simply to remind you of the vitality of our role. Were it up to me, I would much desire for your initiation to be under less difficult circumstances. However! The die has been cast, the cards have been read, and the chariot of fate has been sent rolling towards its ultimate destination. And in the end, our task is naught more than to ensure that it arrives there safely. Now, if you'll excuse me, I will be needed elsewhere shortly. Farewell!"

From within the Velvet Room, there is the sound of muffled footsteps crossing the room and another door opening and swinging shut. Then, silence.

For a while, you remain crouched behind the door, waiting so that your sudden entrance doesn't invite suspicions of eavesdropping. There's little doubt in your mind that the conversation you just heard involved you to some extent, but with your relative lack of context, it's impossible to extrapolate any real meaning from it. If by "difficult circumstances", they mean all that business with the Cloud, then they certainly weren't covering any ground you weren't already aware of. However, that man, the one whose voice you couldn't recognize, sounded awfully on edge, and knew something that even disturbed Elizabeth. It feels like it would be the wrong time for another conference with the residents of the Velvet Room, but you have too many questions to pass up the opportunity. Once you feel as though an appropriate amount of time has passed, you gingerly push open the door and step inside.

The Velvet Room hasn't changed one whit since your last visit. The scene is almost portrait-like in its constancy, right down to the position of the sun above the ship's prow and the direction of the wind as it blows faint whispers through the curtains. The only variables in the scene are the expressions upon its residents' faces - both Minato and Elizabeth's brows are furrowed ever so slightly with a faint distress, and their gazes are somewhat disconcerting as they study you.

"Ah...you've returned," says Elizabeth. Minato uncrosses then recrosses his legs. They seem to be waiting for you to say something, but now that you're here, you don't have much of an idea of where to begin.

"It would appear you've been quite busy since last we met," she resumes, arching an eyebrow expectantly in tandem with Minato.

"That's a bit of an understatement," you say. "How long has something like that been inside me?" You don't really feel like dancing around the point tonight.

"For as long as you have been alive, so too has your Persona. It is but one of many selves that reside within you."

"Wait. 'Many'? Just how many knights am I packing in here?" you ask, tapping your head. For the first time, Elizabeth cracks a smile.

"Each soul has many faces that they wear throughout the entirety of their lives. I have heard tell of a mystical 'hall of mirrors' in your world in which one person may see themselves reflected hundreds of times over." It may be your imagination, but you could swear Minato rolls his eyes slightly. Elizabeth takes no notice and goes on. "Just as the hall of mirrors reveals myriad reflections, your power, the power of the Wild Card, reveals myriad selves." Minato leans towards Elizabeth and places a hand on her arm. She nods and continues. "Many people may only awaken to no more than a handful of Personas over the course of their lives. Most may only discover one. Those with the gift of the Wild Card, however…" Elizabeth opens the book on her lap, and instantly, hundreds of small cards circle about her and Minato, each one emblazoned with the name and portrait of a different creature. "…are privy to the strength of as many Personas as their heart will accept." Then, with a snap of their fingers, the cards burst into plumes of blue flame and vanish, leaving no trace behind.

"Whoa...are you Persona users, too?" you ask.

Minato shakes his head and Elizabeth smiles sadly. "We are but residents of the Velvet Room. Nothing more. You may come to realize as many Personas of your own in time. However, as of now, the you are but an empty vessel. Your power may be limited, but your potential is near limitless. According to my master, there may well be over one hundred Personas lying dormant within your soul."

The thought of that nearly floors you. A hundred beings like Launcelot, a hundred incarnations of you...such a thing scarcely seems plausible. But like it or not, Minato and Elizabeth have had an eerily accurate track record so far when it's come to stuff like this, so you figure the time for skepticism is over at this point.

"However," Elizabeth says, her expression instantly hardening, "this power is not to be treated casually, nor to be underestimated. The success that you have in wielding the power of your Personas is directly tied to the strength of your heart. If your strength of will is strong, then so too will be your Persona. And if it should falter, then it may well devour you, and your journey will come to an end." Both hers and Minato's stares bore into the core of your very being, twisting and worming their way into some desperate, primal, private part of yourself lurks, gone into hiding after satiating itself upon the Shadow that took Mariko. You feel exposed, and fail to repress a shiver. Minato glances at Elizabeth, and she begins to speak again, as if cued.

"Remember, this coming year will be a crucial one for you. If you attempt to face it alone, I can guarantee that you will most certainly fail. But take heart! You are not alone. The soul yearns for those like it, and by opening yourself to others, you will discover the means with which to make it strong. I can see that there is the potential for you to create such ties already...all that is required is a for you exercise some of the other facets of your soul to make them a reality."

"I...I don't really have a choice here, do I?" you ask, a question that contains within it a host of uncertainties about fate, dreams, Shadows, and the now looming threat of unavoidable change.

Minato smirks. "Of course you do. But will you really deny it?" he asks. A pregnant silence descends upon the Velvet Room as you consider the implications of what has been imposed upon you.

"No," you answer. In the end, your answer had been decided from the moment you summoned Launcelot and for the first time that you can recall, felt truly alive.

"Very well then," says Elizabeth. "As long as you are confident in that, then our time together is close to its end. Hopefully, when next we meet, your Wild Card powers will have become more..._well rounded_. My Master and I are quite invested in seeing you succeed, and wish to be able to render assistance in any way possible."

The wish is surprisingly heartfelt for being made so formally, and a strange tingle works its way through your body.

"Until next we meet," she calls. A familiar blackness casts itself over your vision, and your consciousness slips away again to the sound of waves.


End file.
